MARAH  ELLIS  RYA 


THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  TWILIGHT 


1 


/, 


> 


"There  was  a  gray  ship  in  the  far  mists  .   .  . 
but  no  voice  came  back" 

[Page  374] 


The 

Woman  of  the  Twilight 

The  Story  of  a  Story 


By 

MARAH    ELLIS    RYAN 

Author  of  "For  the  Soul  of  Rafael,'* 
"  Indian  Love  Letters,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  HANSON  BOOTH 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1913 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 
1913 


Published  April,  1913 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


To 

The  Perfect  Friend 
SOPHIA    VAN    HORN 

This 
In  Loving  Tribute 

M.  E.  R. 


M598750 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"There  was  a  gray  ship  in  the  far  mists,  but  no 

voice  came  back" Frontispiece 

"And  always  I  will  be  —  alone" 42 

The  broken  wing I44 

"Forget?   Forget ?"  she  whispered  incredulously     .  254 

"He  is  no  longer  —  dying " 4<H 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

CHAPTER  I 

years  McLane  Sargent  was  impressed  with 
the  feeling  that  Aliso  Canon  was  as  some  occult 
dividing  line  between  an  old  life  and  a  new.  Looking 
backward,  it  was  as  if  the  break  in  the  sea  wall  there 
was  some  fateful  portal  passed,  and  connected  with 
the  portal  was  always  the  smell  of  the  sage  and  the 
tang  of  the  sea  salt  air. 

Gilman,  of  the  Southern  Sun,  had  persuaded  him 
into  taking  a  run  down  the  coast  from  Los  Angeles 
on  a  slight  trail  of  smugglers  who  were  using  both 
coast  and  Mexican  border  for  the  quiet  traffic  in  Orien 
tals.  Sargent  had  not  the  slightest  interest  in  the 
oriental  question,  though  he  liked  some  Orientals 
individually;  but  he  was  intoxicated  by  the  harmonic: 
of  soft  gray-greens  of  the  ranges,  the  odor  of  sage 
and  honey  in  the  air,  and  the  wonderful,  unforgetable 
blue  of  the  sea  at  the  edge  of  the  cliffs. 

"An  automobile  is  the  limit  of  all  aggressiveness 
and  discordance  when  it  is  in  a  background  like  this," 
he  decided.  "  It  has  advantages  in  a  practical  way, 
but  who  wants  to  be  practical  or  utilitarian  when  he 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


can  smell  the  white  sage,  hear  the  meadow-lark,  and 
see  that  sweep  of  the  sea  —  not  an  ordinary  blue  sea, 
but  deep  dark  blue  —  a  royal  blue.  If  this  coast  were 
in  Italy  palaces  would  have  been  built  ages  ago  where 
those  sheep  range  above  the  cliffs.  Neither  the  Span 
ish  or  the  Americans  seem  to  have  possessed  any  real 
sense  of  the  beauty  of  this  land.  They  huddle  their 
dwellings  in  groups ;  there  is  nothing  of  gracious  space 
such  as  the  land  invites.  The  Spanish  might  have 
imported  a  little  of  the  Moor's  art  together  with  his 


music." 


''You  wait,"  suggested  Gilman,  "while  I  investi 
gate  that  fisherman  at  Boca  de  la  Playa  on  the  Chinese 
smuggling  matter.  You  can  take  the  machine  and 
run  up  to  old  San  Juan  Mission  —  it 's  only  three 
miles.  Usually  there  is  something  doing  there;  a 
rodeo  —  that  is  a  round-up  of  cattle  or  horses  —  not 
so  many  horse  ranches  these  days;  but  a  Spanish  dance, 
or  barbecue,  or  christening — whatever  it  is  in  old  San 
Juan  it  is  likely  to  give  you  a  story.  A  lot  of  smug 
gling  is  done  through  this  one  mission  valley,  and 
Mexican  renegades  from  either  north  or  south  can  find 
cousins  and  a  hiding  place  in  it  —  at  least  that's  its 
reputation.  It  has  a  local  political  mogul  who  is  Amer 
ican,  old  Lee  Bronson,  an  adventurer  who  drifted  in 
here  with  a  cavalcade  of  Mormons  on  an  exodus  to 
the  south  some  thirty  years  ago.  The  story  is  that 
they  camped  here  two  days  to  rest  up  and  feed  their 
stock,  and  that  on  the  third  morning  he  married  the 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


daughter  of  the  richest  Mexican  in  the  valley  and  has 
dominated  the  region  ever  since.  Half  the  Mexicans 
and  many  of  the  Indians  were  connections  of  his  wife's 
tribe,  either  with  or  without  benefit  of  clergy.  I  saw 
the  man  once — a  magnificent  animal  with  shoulders 
a  yard  across  —  of  a  good  old  southern  family,  I  Ve 
heard;  a  reckless  ranger  and  inveterate  gambler,  taking 
a  long  chance  on  any  game  from  a  chicken  fight  to  a 
horse  race.  Lost  a  lot  of  coin,  but  still  lives  in  a  sort 
of  state  in  an  old  hacienda  with  his  Mexican  brood  — 
keeps  open  house  for  any  well  introduced  or  represen 
tative  travelers  —  the  inn  of  the  little  hamlet  is  not 
alluring,  I  am  told.  You  are  the  representative  dis 
tinguished  individual  of  this  outfit,  Lane.  I  '11  use  you 
to  the  limit  in  the  interests  of  the  Sun  and  hide  myself 
under  your  toga  while  I  try  to  find  the  trail  of  that 
Chinese  leak.  In  the  meantime  you  can  meet  the 
padrone  of  the  mission  valley,  and  get  a  character  for 
another  'best  seller."' 

All  this  from  Oilman,  in  his  short,  jerky  sentences 
as  he  steered  the  machine  along  the  mesa  from  Laguna, 
with  never  a  glance  at  the  ultramarine  of  the  sea  on 
his  right  or  the  carpet  of  bloom  where  the  range  lay 
in  great  billows  on  his  left.  He  prided  himself  on 
being  able  to  write  a  column  of  live  matter  and  con 
fine  himself  to  words  of  one  or  two  syllables,  and  that 
rapid  fire  method  became  a  part  of  his  own  speech 
after  he  found  it  had  a  market  value.  Sargent  listened 
and  watched  him  and  smiled. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


"You  and  your  machine  are  typical,  Oilman,"  he 
observed;  "your  ultimate  ambition  seems  to  be  to 
make  a  record,  to  get  somewhere;  and  you  see  and 
hear  nothing  in  your  going.  For  the  sake  of  your 
own  soul,  listen  to  that  meadow-lark,  and  look  at  the 
wonderful  color  in  the  water  by  the  cliff.  It  changes 
like  an  abalone  shell  in  the  light  and  holds  all  the 
shades  from  indigo  blue  to  pink  and  a  veil  as  of  white 
lace  ever  forming  and  sinking,  and  forming  again  in 
a  new  pattern.  Is  this  all  so  common  to  you  that  you 
never  give  it  a  glance  ?  " 

"Never  saw  it  before  —  was  not  sure  I  could  get 
along  this  way  with  a  machine  —  heard  some  tales 
about  high  water  in  the  streams  —  quicksands  in  some 
of  them,  you  know  —  these  creeks  are  treacherous  — 
call  them  rivers  in  this  country.  But  this  mesa  road 
was  the  only  way  to  reach  Boca  de  la  Playa  without 
going  through  San  Juan,  which  is  desirable  if  I  hope 
to  get  any  real  information  from  my  fisherman.  A 
halt  for  a  glass  of  wine  offered  with  all  courtesy  is 
likely  to  use  up  time  enough  for  Juan  or  Pedro  or 
Diego  to  slip  into  a  saddle  and  make  a  friendly  call 
on  the  boats  and  their  owner.  They  are  tricky  as 
coyotes,  and  I  tell  you,  it  would  pay  you  to  stay  over 
and  make  notes." 

"Still  harping!  I  thought  I  made  it  clear  that  I 
could  only  take  a  run  around  for  a  day  with  you. 
I  Ve  been  due  in  New  York  for  a  week." 

"Now    who's    the    slave    of    time    and    speed?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


grunted  Gilman.  "  I  should  think  that  after  having 
been  soaked  in  the  cold  and  drizzle  of  British  Co 
lumbia,  a  little  sunshine  would  be  worth  staying  over 
for." 

"  It  would,  but  the  North  Coast  book  is  to  go  on 
the  presses  in  a  matter  of  days,  and  if  ever  you  did 
a  piece  of  work  in  a  dialect  new  to  the  reading  public, 
you  'd  know  enough  to  get  there  in  time  to  read  proofs 
yourself.  I  am  barely  saving  myself  time  for  that. 
If  we  don't  reach  Los  Angeles  in  time  for  a  night 
train  I  must  take  the  first  one  in  the  morning." 

"We  can  have  supper  in  San  Juan  and  get  there 
tonight;  but  if  there  is  a  fandango  in  San  Juan  it  is 
sure  to  be  a  morning  train.  Who  are  our  neighbors?  " 

They  had  made  a  turn  and  dip,  and  were  gliding 
around  the  edge  of  Aliso  Canon  and  down  the  incline 
to  the  little  velvety  green  level  running  north  —  a 
fragrant  rift  in  the  sea  wall  —  and  from  a  group  of 
tents  and  wagons  a  slender  figure  in  scarlet  flashed 
along  the  opposite  trail  mounted  on  a  beautiful  horse 
of  the  palomino  markings,  its  white  mane  and  tail 
shining  like  silk  against  the  deep  cream  coat. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike ! "  said  Gilman,  and  stopped 
the  machine  with  a  bump  to  watch.  "  It 's  a  girl,  a 
white  girl,  and  she  rides  like  an  Indian  boy." 

Sargent  said  nothing.  He  was  too  much  occupied 
with  the  wonder;  yet  it  seemed  like  a  corner  of  the 
world  where  the  unexpected  might  always  happen. 

"A  camp  of  abalone  hunters,  Indians  and  Mex- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


leans,"  continued  Gilman;  "that  is  apparent,  but  —  I 
wonder  if  this  might  be  a  point  of  contact  with  my 
Chinese  question.  It  is  no  slight  thing  sent  the  girl  off 
like  that.n 

He  started  the  machine  again,  approaching  the 
camp  slowly  and  noting  the  bustle  and  excitement,  and 
one  man  to  whom  the  others  brought  water  and  wine 
as  he  sank  back  on  a  little  bank  breathing  heavily  as 
if  from  a  race.  One  old  woman  was  weeping,  and  in 
the  chatter  and  questions  of  the  others  the  two  men 
heard  the  name  of  Don  Lee  several  times. 

"  Good  day,  friend,"  said  Gilman  to  one  of  the  men 
as  he  halted  near  the  group,  "is  there  trouble  in 
camp?" 

"  Trouble,  Ait  ai!  Senores,  much  of  troubles !  This 
man  —  it  is  Tomas  Alvar,  my  compadre  —  has  come 
with  much  bad  word  of  trouble.  Senor  Don  Lee  Bron- 
son  is  already  dying  with  the  fall  of  a  horse  over  a 
canon  wall  —  the  rains  made  loose  the  earth  and  all 
went  down.  The  horse  is  killed  dead  and  Don  Lee 
will  ride  no  more  and  will  walk  no  more ! " 

"  Ai!  will  walk  no  more,"  shrilled  one  of  the  older 
women  in  Spanish,  "  and  Querida,  his  Querida,  is  here 
away  from  him  when  he  calls  for  her.  Ai,  ai,  Don 
Lee !  Ai,  ai,  Querida  !  " 

She  wailed  and  rocked  her  body  and  exclaimed 
over  the  fatality  of  it,  but  the  two  Americans  could 
only  comprehend  her  woe  and  the  name. 

"  And  the  girl,  the  rider? "    Gilman  made  a  gesture 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


towards  the  road  up  the  side  of  the  canon  where  the 
girl  had  flashed  out  of  sight  to  the  mesa  above. 

"That  is  La  Querida;  she  is  his  niece,  he  is  as  her 
father  —  poor  little  one!  It  is  to  her  Tomas  brings 
the  word,  and  she  rides  —  see  you  how  she  rides  that 
his  eyes  may  see  her  again." 

"  I  promising  Dona  Carmel  that  I  find  La  Querida 
or  I  never  riding  back  the  trail  to  San  Juan,"  stated 
Tomas,  who  had  gulped  down  the  wine  and  gotten 
his  breath.  "  My  horse  there  is  wet  as  if  he  is  swim 
ming  a  river" — then  he  checked  himself  at  some 
thought  and  whispered,  " Madre  de  Dios!  the  river!  " 

"What  it  is?"  demanded  his  compadre,  impatiently. 
"Tomas,  what  you  thinking?" 

"  The  river!  It  is  the  short  way.  She  will  try  to 
cross  the  river,  and  the  waters  coming  down  last 
night  like  the  flood,  and  all  the  quicksands — " 

He  turned  to  his  horse  as  if  to  mount,  but  the  spent 
brute  stood  panting,  his  neck  stretched  out,  his  sides 
heaving.  He  could  never  make  the  race  back  and  over 
take  that  crimson  arrow  shooting  across  the  mesa. 
Tomas  dropped  his  head  with  an  eloquent  upward 
gesture  of  despairing  hands. 

"I  don't  know  the  trail,"  said  Gilman,  "but  cheer 
up;  unless  there  are  some  unusual  cut-offs,  or  an  impos 
sible  road,  we  can  catch  her.  Clear  the  road,  that  I 
may  back  to  take  the  hill  —  that's  it,  and  now  — 
adios!" 

"Adios,  adios,  'Amigo!"  called  the  men  as  the  ma- 


8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

chine  swept  by  them  over  the  bridge  and  up  the 
grade  with  all  the  power  it  could  gather  for  the  spurt. 

But  the  horse  and  rider  were  sweeping  downward 
in  a  barranca  a  mile  ahead,  and  then  emerged  a 
fleeting  vision  of  cream  and  scarlet.  Sargent  thought 
of  a  graceful  bird  clearing  the  sage  green  of  the 
ranges. 

But  it  was  not  a  road  for  speed  with  a  car.  On 
every  incline  where  barranca  or  canon  dipped  down 
to  the  sea  the  gray  hills  were  washed  in  great  ruts,  and 
only  on  the  level  mesa  could  they  hope  to  make  better 
time  than  the  reckless  "  La  Querida,"  who  swerved 
neither  to  right  or  left,  but  sped  like  a  homing  bird,  or 
a  flaming  arrow. 

Beyond,  they  could  see  a  larger  range  looming  and 
a  wide  half  moon  of  the  surf  running  in  to  the  yellow 
cliffs.  Somewhere  at  the  foot  of  those  hills  the  river 
must  run,  the  treacherous  river  of  the  quicksands  when 
the  rains  made  every  brooklet  as  a  swift  running  mill 
race.  The  mountains  were  only  ten  miles  from  the 
sea,  and  the  force  of  the  river  at  its  worst  would  be 
problem  enough  for  a  girl  and  horse  to  swim  without 
the  added  risk  of  the  shifting,  quickening  sands. 

The  two  men  did  not  speak  of  these  things;  they 
had  ceased  talking,  but  their  thoughts  were  ahead  of 
the  car  and  not  of  it.  They  had  neither  lost  nor 
gained  space  as  yet,  or  at  least  the  gain  had  been 
slight;  then  two  miles  of  clear  mesa  came  to  their  lot, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


and  beyond  it  they  felt  must  be  the  downward  sweep 
to  the  river. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Oilman,  "this  is  the  stretch  where 
we  win  all  we  are  likely  to  win  to  get  within  hailing 
distance." 

There  was  silence,  as  they  seemed  scarcely  to  touch 
the  ground  until  they  reached  the  summit,  and  then 
Sargent,  leaning  forward  tense  and  watchful,  whis 
pered,  "Thank  the  gods!" 

Gilman,  forced  to  check  speed  for  the  unknown 
decline,  glanced  ahead  and  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"  Me  too ! "  he  agreed,  for  in  a  bend  of  the  road 
below  three  horsemen  had  emerged,  vaqueros  who  had 
halted  and  were  staring  at  the  girl,  who  checked  the 
pace  neither  up  grade  nor  down,  and  who  shouted 
high  and  clear  the  query,  "Can  I  cross  the  river?" 

"Si,  Senorita,  we  did  cross  it  yesterday!" 

Question  and  answer  came  clearly  to  the  two  men 
above  them,  and  Gilman  shot  the  car  forward  with  an 
oath. 

;' Yesterday,  yesterday!"  muttered  Sargent,  staring 
ahead;  "but  the  man  said  it  was  last  night  the  flood 
came  down  —  the  girl  does  not  know  —  are  the  men 
devils?  Yell  for  all  you  are  worth,  Gillie;  now  then, 
both  together ! " 

The  girl  must  have  heard  them  call.  She  threw 
up  one  hand  as  response  or  acknowledgment,  but  did 
not  turn  her  head  or  slacken  speed.  Evidently  she 


io  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

thought  the  call  was  a  cheer  for  the  way  the  beautiful 
horse  was  spurning  the  road  beneath  him,  and  as  the 
car  shot  past  the  three  horsemen  Oilman  glanced  into 
their  smiling  faces  and  came  wondrously  near  grazing 
them,  as  he  sounded  the  warning  call  of  the  horn  again 
and  again  and  again  as  the  car  seemed  to  fairly  drop 
down  from  the  upper  level  on  the  trail  of  the  flying 
horse. 

At  that  long  sustained  note  of  warning  the  girl  did 
turn  her  head — but  too  late! 

She  was  on  the  edge  of  the  water  where  at  other 
times  the  river  shore  reached  its  shelving  sands  grad 
ually  towards  the  center,  and  a  small  creek  made  its 
way  to  the  sea,  which  was  less  than  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away. 

But  now  there  was  no  shelving  shore.  The  force 
of  the  water  from  the  mountains  had  cut  clear  the 
course  for  a  river,  and  the  edge  of  the  river  in  flood 
was  as  the  straight  walled  bank  of  a  canal,  and  the 
horse,  running  swiftly  to  the  fording  place,  plunged 
from  the  bank  into  the  treacherous  flood,  moving  so 
quietly,  relentlessly,  that  no  one  could  guess  the  depth 
to  which  the  river  had  been  cut  in  one  brief  night  and 
day. 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  horse  and  rider  were 
both  going  under  as  they  shot  downwards,  but  that 
warning  had  at  least  caused  the  girl  to  swerve,  turn 
ing  up  stream,  and  lifting  the  head  of  the  horse, 
keeping  it  above  water. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  II 

To  turn  and  regain  the  bank  was  not  a  possible 
thing.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  strive  for  the 
opposite  wall,  against  which  the  water  swirled  and 
lapped  until  one  great  mass  of  the  adobe  soil  after 
another  was  cut  under  by  the  turbid  flood  and  melted 
into  the  mass  carried  out  to  sea. 

Gallantly  the  beautiful  animal  swam,  his  mane  and 
tail  no  longer  like  spun  silver,  but  gray  from  the  soiled 
water.  Midway  his  feet  touched  soil,  and  he  flung 
up  his  head  as  a  victor  who  has  reached  the  goal  and 
conquered;  but  only  for  an  instant.  The  next  a  brief 
whinny  of  fear  came  from  him,  and  the  girl  on  his 
back  leaned  forward,  patting  his  neck,  urging,  coax 
ing,  lifting  him  out  of  the  terror  in  which  his  feet 
were  tangled. 

uThe  quicksand!"  whispered  Sargent.  The  car 
had  halted  a  few  yards  from  the  water,  and  he  had 
leaped  out  with  the  instinct  to  help,  yet  there  was 
nothing  he  could  do.  The  still,  relentless  current  of 
the  river  swept  between  them;  it  was  sweeping  the 
horse  towards  the  sea  despite  his  gallant  fight,  and 
the  rider  knew  it.  Sargent  could  sense  the  moment 
she  knew  it,  for  she  no  longer  urged  him  to  cross,  but 
headed  him  diagonally  down  stream  and  across. 
Again  and  again  the  feet  of  the  animal  struck  sand 
banks  from  which  he  struggled  free,  and  Oilman 
shouted  praise  and  encouragement  as  the  further  shore 
was  neared. 

The  girl  never  turned  her  head.     Sargent  said  not 


12  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

a  word.  He  fairly  held  his  breath  at  the  doubt  as 
to  whether  a  horse,  thus  struggling,  would  have 
strength  at  the  water's  edge  to  make  the  leap  to  the 
top  of  the  bank.  To  scramble  or  make  tentative 
attempts  would  only  result  in  crumbling  away  the  adobe 
wall,  and  then  —  he  noted  twigs  and  bits  of  bark  swept 
seaward. 

He  had  cast  aside  his  coat  and,  loosening  his  shoes, 
was  keeping  opposite,  slowly  walking  abreast,  loosen 
ing  cravat  and  collar,  but  never  taking  his  eyes  off  the 
horse  and  rider.  If  the  worst  happened  he  could  per 
haps  swim  below  her.  With  help  a  light  figure  like 
hers  could  reach  the  bank  even  if  the  horse  went 
under  —  which  would  happen  unless  by  some  miracle 
or  instinct  he  could  find  solid  footing  for  his  hind  feet, 
that  he  might  make  a  clear  leap  to  the  level  above. 

And  that — the  apparently  impossible  —  was  what 
came  about.  From  being  swept  steadily  seaward  the 
rider  swerved  the  horse  inward  to  the  shore  at  a  point 
where  a  slight  jutting  of  the  wall  gave  a  nook  for 
hope,  and  with  urging  words  and  upraised  bridle  hand, 
she  fairly  lifted  him  for  the  upward  leap. 

He  gathered  himself  together  like  a  cat,  and  sprang 
upwards,  landing  squarely  and  safely,  but  trembling 
with  a  great  fear  of  the  thing  he  had  escaped. 

A  wild  cheer  went  up  from  Oilman,  but  the  girl, 
looking  back  across  the  stream,  took  no  notice  of  him. 
Her  glance  went  upward  to  the  three  Fates  on  the 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  13 

road  above.  They  had  destined  her  to  the  quicksands 
and  the  sea,  and  sat  in  their  saddles,  watching! 

For  an  instant  she  stood  up  in  the  stirrups  and 
looked  back  at  them,  one  clenched  hand  flung  upwards 
and  then  opening  in  a  sweeping  gesture  as  the  brushing 
aside  of  a  contemptible  thing.  Not  a  word,  or  call,  or 
cry  from  first  to  last;  and  with  that  brief,  direct  look, 
she  lifted  the  bridle,  and  the  horse  again  swept  into 
the  same  gait — a  steady,  tireless  run  across  the  green 
river  valley. 

Sargent,  walking  back,  watched  her  as  she  grew 
less  distinct  amid  the  tall,  blooming  things  beyond  the 
flood  of  the  quicksands,  and,  silent  and  safe,  did  not 
know  he  had  been  a  part  in  an  allegory  of  life ! 

"Turn  the  car  up  the  hill,"  he  said  as  he  got  back. 
"  If  we  had  plunged  in  there  as  that  girl  did  —  thinking 
it  a  shallow,  fordable  stream  —  it  would  be  all  up  with 
both  of  us  by  now.  The  least  we  can  do  is  call  those 
men  to  a  reckoning.  What  cowardly  devils !  " 

"Too  late,  son,"  said  Oilman.  "They  faded  away 
over  the  range  soon  as  the  girl  landed.  You  can't 
follow  broncos  over  a  roadless  cattle  range.  This  is 
not  my  lucky  day — I  am  not  to  get  to  Boca  de  la 
Playa  over  there  except  by  going  up  along  this  side  of 
the  river  to  San  Juan.  It's  about  three  miles,  and  as 
this  infernal  stream  is  formed  by  two  or  three  branches 
we  will  only  have  to  cross  one  of  the  lesser  ones,  and  I 
can  get  a  horse  for  the  trip  back  to  the  coast  if  the 


14  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

south  branch  is  not  fordable  for  a  machine.  We  will 
hustle  a  bit  to  see  if  the  girl  reaches  the  village  safely." 

"  What  a  horse ! "  murmured  Sargent,  his  mind  still 
filled  with  the  feeling  of  the  river  in  flood  and  the 
strength  of  the  sea  drawing  the  noble  creature  so  near 
to  a  death  under  the  cliffs. 

"  In  any  other  land  you  would  remember  the  girl," 
remarked  Oilman,  as  the  car  sped  past  walnut  groves 
and  stretches  of  almonds  in  bloom  lining  the  road, 
44  but  in  these  ranges  the  children  grow  up  with  the 
colts,  and  a  saddle  is  more  common  than  a  rocking 
chair.  I  told  you  it  was  worth  making  the  trip  for. 
There  is  always  some  new  thing  for  a  tourist  in  the 
Mexican  country." 

The  girl  reached  the  village  safely,  and  swung  from 
her  horse  to  the  store  porch  a  minute  after  Gilman 
halted  the  car  at  the  mission  gate. 

In  the  dust  of  the  road  the  sweat  ran  in  little 
pools  from  the  animal,  but  his  breath  came  in  great, 
sure  inhalations.  The  girl  patted  him  with  tender 
hands,  and  threw  the  bridle  to  a  Mexican  boy. 

"  Care  well  for  him,  Anastacio,"  she  said,  briefly. 
"I  would  have  a  grave  now  in  the  quicksand  of  San 
Juan  River  but  for  the  soul  in  him." 

"Mother  of  God!"  said  one  of  the  Mexicans, 
jumping  to  his  feet  from  the  wooden  bench  in  the 
shade.  "That  horse  have  swam  the  river  down  by 
the  sea?  He  have  brought  you  through  the  quick 
sand  and  then  make  the  run  home  after  that?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


He  was  circling  the  animal,  looking  keenly  over 
its  strong,  graceful  figure. 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  the  girl,  carelessly,  as  she  went 
down  the  steps,  "  that  is  nothing  for  my  horse,  Pedro 
Morro !  And  you  can  tell  your  cousin,  Manuel,  that 
if  he  wants  me  to  choke  in  the  river  sands,  he  must 
lend  me  one  of  his  own  kind  of  horses  to  swim  it 
with  —  a  half-breed  bronco  like  he  tried  to  run  in  the 
race  last  week! " 

"  Manuel ! "  called  Pedro  Morro,  as  she  moved 
away,  u  Manuel  would  have  sense  not  to  take  the 
river  trail  today !  Yesterday  before  the  last  rain  comes 
down  six  of  Manuel's  vaqueros  try  to  cross,  and  all 
the  men  had  to  get  out  of  the  saddle  and  make  the 
swim.  But  last  night  the  witches  turn  loose  all  at  one 
time  all  the  water  of  the  range  in  this  one  valley,  and 
every  bank  of  the  river  is  change.  Manuel  has  sense 
to  risk  no  horses  there  today.  He  rides  six  miles 
around  first! " 

"I  thought  so!  —  that  is  because  he  is  like  his 
broncos  —  a  coward!" 

"  But  Senorita  —  Querida  !  " 

"  I  know  now  for  sure  that  my  uncle  is  dying," 
said  the  girl.  "  They  know  he  can  never  again  stand 
on  his  feet  to  lash  them  with  a  quirt  as  he  did  when 
they  were  boys.  They  are  jealous  of  my  horse  because 
it  makes  theirs  look  like  mongrel  dogs.  You  can  tell 
the  handsome  Manuel  that  for  me ! " 

Sargent  was  near  enough  to  hear  the  cold,  angry 


1 6  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

words,  but  without  understanding  Spanish,  the  mean 
ings  were  lost  to  him.  The  man,  Morro,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  rolled  a  cigarette  as  he  walked  again 
around  the  horse,  eyeing  it  critically  as  the  Indian 
walked  it  up  and  down  the  road  to  cool  off.  The  girl 
gave  Sargent  one  steady  look.  Gilman  was  further 
away,  at  the  mission  gate.  Then  she  flung  a  glance 
of  disdain  at  Morro,  and  ran  like  a  boy  along  the  line 
of  eucalyptus  trees  to  the  gate  of  a  large  house  barely 
discernible  among  the  palms. 

From  her  scowling  face  it  was  difficult  to  decide 
whether  she  was  altogether  ugly  or  with  the  possi 
bility  of  prettiness  under  a  different  mood.  Sargent 
noted,  with  a  little  pleasure  at  its  artistic  fitness,  that 
she  wore  a  banda  about  her  head  such  as  he  noted  in 
the  Navajos  of  the  desert.  Only  the  older  Indians 
of  the  mission  groups  held  to  that  primitive  headgear; 
the  younger  generation  aspired  to  the  sombrero,  or, 
what  was  even  less  artistic,  the  stiff  dark  felt  of  the 
casual  drummer  for  groceries  or  hardware. 

"Good  wind  —  has  that  horse, "  concluded  Morro. 
"  I  bet  on  him  my  own  money  next  time  he  run  in  the 


race." 


uThat  also  is  typical,"  observed  Gilman.  "A  pros 
pect  of  a  race,  however  far  ahead,  is  a  thing  to  dream 
over."  Then  he  looked  down  the  road  where  teams 
were  hitched  to  posts,  and  horses  stood  saddled,  and 
riders  were  straggling  in,  singly  and  in  pairs,  from  the 
ranges. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  17 

"Where  is  there  a  man  who  will  hire  me  a  horse 
to  ride  to  the  sea?"  he  asked  the  Mexican  whom  the 
girl  had  called  Anastacio. 

"The  Don  Lee  is  dying  with  the  fall  of  a  horse 
down  the  wall  of  a  canon,"  stated  Anastacio,  "  and  be 
cause  of  his  dying  there  is  no  work  done  anywhere  and 
no  one  to  catch  horses  and  no  one  to  show  to  tourists 
the  old  mission,  or  the  carvings,  or  anything  at  all." 

"How  do  you  know  we  are  tourists?"  asked  Sar 
gent,  who  had  already  entered  the  plaza  of  the  mis 
sion  and  was  taking  great  draughts  of  the  fragrance 
of  rose  and  heliotrope,  as  his  eyes  ranged  over  the 
green  ranges  and  to  the  amethystine  heights  of  San 
Jacinto  seen  through  an  arch  of  the  colonnade. 

"Also  there  will  be  no  empty  beds  in  San  Juan," 
continued  Anastacio.  "  Even  the  padre  will  sleep  tonight 
in  the  mission  with  the  ghosts.  The  padre  and  the 
lawyer  and  the  doctor  all  have  come  from  Los  Angeles 
because  that  so  damn  black  Pedro  horse  slip  back  over 
the  canon  wall  by  his  hind  feet  and  is  killed  dead  by 
the  broke  neck." 

"An  exceedingly  humanitarian  part  of  the  world, 
this  adopted  coast  of  yours,  Gilman,"  remarked  Sar 
gent,  "  when  you  call  in  a  doctor,  lawyer  and  padre 
because  a  condemned  black  horse  breaks  his  neck  in  a 


canon." 


"  Oh,  cut  it  out,  Lane ! "  growled  that  dapper  and 
disgruntled  person.  He  stared  around  at  the  mission, 
the  village,  and  down  the  street  which  was  only  the 


1 8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

continuation  of  the  main  road,  El  Camina  Real,  the 
king's  highway  of  the  old  Spanish  days.  "We're  in 
a  bad  enough  box  without  ragging  the  natives.  If 
Don  Lee  is  dying,  his  own  retainers  will  overflow 
every  bed  and  veranda  and  patio  so  far  as  lodging 
goes;  and,  as  this  boy  says,  there  will  be  no  work 
done  anywhere  until  it  is  all  over.  Unless  I  can  get  a 
horse  —  you  had  better  climb  in  —  there  is  no  chance 
for  supper  this  side  of  Santa  Ana." 

"  Oilman,  you  are  impossible,"  retorted  the  other, 
lifting  his  hat  and  letting  the  cool  air  of  the  sea  sweep 
through  his  brown  hair.  "You  bring  me  to  see  the 
ideal  corner  of  America  and  would  have  me  back  out 
because  a  supper  is  not  waiting  for  us!  Supper!  I'd 
go  hungry  for  a  week  for  an  hour  of  just  this.  If 
every  door  in  the  village  was  locked  against  us  they 
can't  lock  out  the  sky,  and  the  ranges,  and  the  fra 
grance,  and  this  —  why,  it 's  another  Alhambra!  Look 
at  that  arch,  and  that  dome,  eighty  feet  high,  five  feet 
thick,  and  never  a  timber  —  that  was  some  building! 
And  you  talk  of  supper!" 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  buy  photographs  of  the  old 
walls;  but  what  I  wanted  you  to  see,  and  write  up, 
were  the  round-ups  and  the  men  on  the  range.  Even  a 
barbecue  might  have  come  in  our  way,  and  old-time 
Spanish  dances.  All  these  things  of  the  everyday  life 
here!  A  few  years  ago  we  might  have  seen  a  bull 
fight  down  by  the  sea,  but  the  American  laws  stopped 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  19 

all  that.  They  are  changing  things  until  there  is  little 
character  left  in  the  land." 

"With  this  still  in  sight?"  and  Lane  Sargent  waved 
his  hat  from  the  sea  to  the  mountains.  "  Oilman,  you 
are  so  keen  on  the  scent  of  the  concrete  romance  that 
you  never  realize  it  is  in  the  air  about  you  here.  Wake 
up!  You  don't  seem  to  grasp  the  fact  that  there  is 
any  unusual  life  on  this  coast  outside  of  your 
Chinatowns  and  your  various  commercial  booms." 

"Have  to  write  of  the  things  people  know  about. 
The  blessed  public  does  not  really  want  new  themes; 
they  want  their  old  favorite  dolls  and  toys  and 
ambitions  refurbished.  They  want  to  read  of  the 
things  they  would  like  to  do.  Every  woman  in  the 
audience  wants  to  be  the  heroine  of  the  melodrama, 
else  the  melodrama  does  not  make  good!  No  use 
racing  after  romance  in  the  air;  that  would  be  too 
close  to  the  altitude  of  the  poetic.  Only  two  writers 
in  America  make  a  living  writing  poetry  —  the  age 
is  out  of  tune  for  it — and  to  come  down  to  earth,  I 
will  see  if  crackers  and  cheese  are  on  tap  at  the  store 
across  the  plaza,  also  what  prospect  of  a  horse.  I 
will  steer  clear  of  the  'four  hundred'  here,  as  it  has 
always  been  Don  Lee's  custom  to  keep  open  house, 
and  his  family  would  ask  to  do  the  honors  of  the 
pueblo  as  a  matter  of  custom." 

"Send  this  lad;  he  seems  willing." 

"&',  Senores.     I  do  all  what  you  want.     If  I  could 


2O  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

maybe  get  the  key  from  Dona  Carmel  I  open  the 
door,"  and  he  nodded  towards  the  closed  church,  "  but 
unless  the  padre  has  prayers  I  think  maybe  no  one 
gets  the  key.  Dona  Carmel  cannot  be  spoke  with, 
not  all  day.  All  so  many  people  to  be  fed  who  have 
come  to  the  ranch  —  in  the  kitchen  it  is  like  a  day  of 
a  fiesta,  and  they  bake  now  the  head  of  a  young  bull 
in  the  pit  by  the  olive  trees." 

He  pointed  with  animation  past  the  wall  of  euca 
lyptus  to  where  this  culinary  dainty  was  in  course  of 
preparation,  and  Sargent  smiled  sympathetically  on 
the  lad  who  was  having  a  day  full  of  new  things,  and 
was  proud  to  be  spokesman  for  the  village  during  this 
time  of  stress  when  his  seniors  were  absorbed  in  the 
village  tragedy. 

"Evidently  the  Dona  Carmel  is  chatelaine  of  both 
the  hacienda  and  the  village  chapel,  likewise  the  deity 
presiding  over  baked  bulls'  heads,"  he  observed.  "  To 
be  the  padrona  of  a  family  where  baked  bulls  are 
served  for  a  dinner  must  require  considerable  executive 
ability  of  these  Mexican  wives.  Contrast  them 
mentally  with  the  presiding  angel  of  a  pink  tea ! " 

Anastacio  halted  with  the  money  in  his  hand  for  the 
desired  lunch  materials,  and  looked  from  one  man  to 
the  other  with  the  ever  ready  suspicion  of  the  native 
against  the  Americano.  He  did  not  understand  the 
smile  or  reference  to  pink  tea  angels,  and  resenting 
that  which  he  did  not  understand,  his  black  velvet 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  21 

eyes  grew  sullen  and  his  shrug  was  insolent  —  and 
meant  to  be. 

"The  Dona  Carmel  is  not  these  names,  and  she  is 
not  an  angel  of  the  pink,  but  my  mother  says  she  does 
penance  enough  to  make  her  a  saint,  and  that  the  chil 
dren  of  Dona  Margarita  would  be  altogether  like  wild 
Apaches  if  Dona  Carmel  did  not  pray  always  to  the 
Virgin  in  the  chapel.  She  alone  sending  Tomas  Alvar 
on  that  quick  ride  finding  La  Querida,  also  in  her  own 
house  there  is  a  shrine  and  the  lamp  always  burns 
there !  " 

He  flung  one  slender  brown  hand  towards  a  small 
adobe  house  where  a  veranda  was  covered  with  a  great 
vine  of  the  rose  of  the  golden  dream.  "  Also,"  he  added 
as  he  moved  away,  "  Dona  Carmel  is  not  a  Mexican 
wife;  she  is  not  Mexicana  and  she  is  not  wife!" 

Then  he  stalked  down  the  road  with  the  horse  and 
left  the  two  staring  at  each  other,  and  Oilman 
chuckled. 

"  Fancy  a  New  England  boy  with  that  sort  of  local 
pride  and  absurd  dignity!  He  snubbed  you  as  an  igno 
ramus  because  you  did  not  know  the  social  or  spiritual 
lights  of  the  village  —  that's  one  on  you!" 

"  I  think  it  is  rather  fine.  The  fact  that  he  was 
barefoot  and  had  only  one  suspender  did  not  keep 
him  from  acting  as  champion  for  the  saint-to-be  Car 
mel,  whoever  or  whatever  she  is !  I  don't  know  how  I 
chanced  to  jar  his  sensibilities;  but  it  was  refreshing, 


22  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

and  what  a  vista  he  opens  to  the  imagination !  If  I 
had  not  given  so  much  time  to  the  North  Coast  work, 
and  had  not  been  actually  due  in  the  East  any  hour 
in  the  last  three  days,  I  would  camp  here  where  saints 
still  walk  the  earth  and  save  the  children  of  Dona 
Margarita  from  being  altogether  like  wild  Apaches! 
Under  the  critical  eyes  of  that  barefoot  grandee  I 
would  not  dare  confess  that  I  had  never  even  heard  of 
Dona  Margarita.  Who  is  the  lady  ?" 

"  My  evidence  is  no  good.  I  never  was  through 
here  but  once  —  with  a  political  delegation  —  special 
train.'  I  was  taking  notes  of  what  the  spellbinders 
were  trying  to  get  across  to  the  natives  at  each  hamlet 
or  water  tank.  I  do  remember  this  place  because  of 
the  old  ruin  there  —  also  recall  that  Don  Lee  Bronson 
headed  the  local  committee  of  welcome  —  had  some 
black-browed  sons  —  looked  like  half-breeds,  but  was 
told  their  mother  was  one  of  the  so-called  old  Spanish 
families  —  wealthy,  you  know  —  and  the  family  politi 
cally  prominent,  but  not  much  class.  There  are  just 
about  as  many  pure  blood  Spanish  families  in  Cali 
fornia  as  you  could  count  on  your  fingers;  the  rest  are 
mixed  bloods,  yet  they  all  call  themselves  Spanish.'7 

"  Curious,  that,  and  over  in  New  Mexico,  where 
more  than  half  the  Spanish  names  have  places  in  his 
tory,  and  every  second  ranchman  knows  his  pedigree 
for  over  two  centuries,  and  the  Spanish  province  of  his 
ancestors,  one  never  hears  a  man  or  woman  claim  to 
be  Spanish  —  they  are  too  prou'd  of  being  Mexican! 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  23 

They  have  some  wonderful  old  missions  there,  but 
nothing  to  compare  with  this.  I  can't  believe  the  friars 
alone  ever  built  with  such  stonework  north  of  Mexico, 
and  this  setting  is  superb ;  even  the  doves  on  the  Moor 
ish  chimney  and  the  linnet  nests  in  the  cornices  fit  into 
the  picture.  Yes,  if  I  had  a  month  all  my  own  I  'd 
camp  here  and  write  a  story  of  the  place;  not  one  about 
the  round-ups,  and  the  bull  fights,  but  of  the  sort  of 
women  the  boy  told  us  of  —  saint-like  and  devotional. 
I  could  fancy  anyone  becoming  religious  and  devo 
tional  here.  That  glow  on  the  mountains  is  like  a 
benediction." 

They  had  strolled  from  the  old  chancel  through  the 
plaza  to  the  inner  court,  and  all  the  range  of  the  north 
was  a  flush  of  rose  and  gold  as  the  lowering  sun  sent 
floods  of  color  through  slender  drifts  of  white  cloud, 
and  against  the  hills  were  bars  of  faint  lavender 
shadows  across  the  glory  of  color. 

Oilman  regarded  him  with  quizzical  lifted  brows 
and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  You  would  find  your  devotional  saint  fat  and 
black  and  given  to  much  smoking,"  he  remarked. 
"  Most  of  them  are  that  after  twenty-five ;  and  I  Ve  just 
located  your  Dona  Margarita.  She  was  the  wife  of 
Don  Lee  Bronson  and  departed  life  some  years  ago. 
Her  father  was  one  of  the  early  Mexican  traders  of 
this  territory.  She  was  a  great  heiress,  who  could  not 
write  her  own  name,  and  was  proud  of  it.  Don  Lee 
might  gamble  away  thousands  of  her  money  without 


24  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

protest;  but  there  was  civil  war  when  he  undertook  to 
pay  a  few  hundreds  for  a  governess  for  their  young 
olive  branches.  Yes,  I  remember  hearing  of  her;  she 
was  a  very  pious  lady,  and  died  of  some  sort  of  fit  of 
rage  after  horsewhipping  one  of  her  slaves  with  her 
own  hands  —  one  of  the  local  celebrities  for  whom 
obituaries  are  hard  to  write!  Say!  if  you  want  to 
moon  around  here  a  while  longer  I  will  follow  the 
boy  and  try  my  chance  for  a  horse.  It  won't  take  me 
long  to  cover  the  ground.  I  have  the  name  of  a  fisher 
man  who  may  be  able  to  give  me  some  points  if  he  is 
at  home.  With  this  excitement  over  the  accident  there 
is  less  chance  of  some  native  son  heading  me  off.  The 
Chinks  either  landed  at  this  shore  or  else  crossed  the 
range  from  Mexico  and  came  down  the  canon  from 
the  hill.  If  the  padre  concludes  to  have  services  in 
the  chapel,  pray  that  I  find  my  fisherman  and  a 
4  scoop.'  Lucky  there  is  a  moon  —  it  won't  take  long 
to  reach  supper  after  we  do  hit  the  road.  Do  your 
best  with  cheese  and  crackers  until  then  —  unless,  of 
course,  you  would  rather  go  over  to  Bronson's  and  be 
introduced.  But  it  won't  be  gay,  and  as  we  could  not 
see  Don  Lee  —  well,  the  rest  are  characterless." 

"Are  they?"  queried  Sargent.  "What  about  the 
saintly  lady  of  the  shrine,  and  the  girl  who  rode? 
Querida  —  queer  name!  " 

"  Queer?  Not  so  much,"  grinned  Oilman;  "  it  means 
*  darling.'  Sounds  nice,  but  she  is  only  a  scowling  kid, 
with  probably  a  dozen  saints'  names  for  her  own. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  25 

She  looked  * diabla1  instead  of  'darling'  to  me;  but 
'Dona  Darling'  would  look  good  in  a  write-up  of  the 
range  —  want  to  see  her?" 

Sargent  shook  his  head  and  turned  back  to  the  study 
of  the  old  ruined  walls  with  the  traces  of  frescoes  still 
to  be  seen  in  sheltered  nooks  where  the  storms  or  the 
linnets  had  failed  to  efface  them.  He  was  new  enough 
to  the  land  and  young  enough  in  years  to  want  to  enjoy 
the  quaint,  almost  mysterious,  old  place,  without 
Oilman's  idea  of  making  a  copy  of  it. 

From  the  colonnade  he  caught  sight  of  that  brisk 
workman  settling  himself  on  the  back  of  a  pinto  cow 
pony  and  ambling  towards  the  sea.  And  Anastacio, 
returning  with  the  cheese  and  crackers,  carried  also  an 
invitation  from  the  owner  of  the  pony  to  come  down 
where  the  vaqueros  had  made  a  fire  and  were  roasting 
ribs  of  beef  by  the  acquia,  also  there  were  vino  and 
tortillos. 

Sargent  hesitated.  The  cool  air  of  sunset  was  com 
ing  down  from  the  mountains,  soon  the  stars  would  be 
shining,  and  the  men  of  the  ranges  would  be  a  picture 
worth  seeing — Indian  and  Mexican  in  the  glow  of 
their  roasting  fire  —  one  could  hear  all  the  gossip  of 
the  valley  and  the  comment  on  the  accident  to  the 
padrone. 

Then  he  looked  at  the  great  arch  of  the  chancel, 
and  the  amethystine  height  of  San  Jacinto,  and  put 
aside  the  smaller  temptation  of  pueblo  humanity.  Even 
the  slight  mystery  of  La  Querida  was  more  fascinating 


26  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

than  knowledge  of  her  was  likely  to  be.  One  could 
always  find  groups  of  people,  and  voices,  and  feasting, 
but  the  spell  of  the  beautiful  old  ruin  was  a  rarer  thing. 
It  had  a  personality  voiceless,  yet  eloquent,  and  he 
shook  his  head,  and  gave  Anastacio  a  coin  and  thanked 
him. 

"  It  is  not  bad  to  wait  here  and  fast  where  the  old 
order  of  priests  used  to  pray,"  he  said.  "  I  read  of  all 
this  in  a  book  years  ago  and  thought  I  had  forgotten  — 
but  it  comes  back.  There  was  one  wonderful  priest, 
a  musician  who  went  mad  and  ended  his  days  here. 
You  live  in  a  place  that  was  great,  Anastacio ! " 

''You  knowing  that?"  The  boy's  eyes  were  wide  in 
wonder.  "  Not  so  many  Americanos  knowing  that. 
They  ask  always  the  question,  and  no  telling  anything. 
I  wish  I  can  see  Dona  Carmel  and  get  that  key  for 
the  chapel.  If  she  is  knowing  a  senor  devote  time  to 
books  of  this  mission  I  think  surely  she  would  be 
proud  that  you  see,  but  it  is  like  I  tell  you,  Scnor:  — 
this  day  is  one  of  the  sad  heart — like  crazy  is  all  in 
that  house,  and  Senorita  Querida  is  not  found  all  day 
until  Tomas  Alvar  he  find  her  pretty  near  too  late ! 
Every  time  she  go  like  that  away  where  old  Indios 
dry  the  abalone,  or  gather  acorns,  or  make  ollas  in  the 
canon;  the  Spanish  sehoritas  make  themselves  too 
proud  and  rich  for  that — but  Don  Lee  he  always 
laugh,  and  call  her  his  boy,  and  let  her  go,  arid  the  old 
Indios  taking  care  of  her.  But  Dona  Carmel  praying 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  27 

all  the  time,  too,  and  I  think  maybe  that  praying  help 
more  than  the  Indios.  What  you  think?" 

It  was  a  delight  to  watch  the  boy  as  he  made  these 
disjointed  announcements  of  the  pueblo  life.  The  fact 
that  Sargent  had  read  in  books  concerning  the  old 
mission  aroused  in  him  an  eagerness  that  the  stranger 
should  see  the  interior  of  the  chapel,  though  it  would 
be  too  dark  to  see  the  embroideries  and  robes  in  the 
sacristy. 

An  old  man  with  a  cane  came  slowly  across  the 
plaza  under  the  pepper  tree  and  made  a  signal  to 
Anastacio. 

"You  are  to  ring  the  bells,  the  padre  is  to  say  a 
rosary,  go  for  the  key,"  he  said  in  English  with  a 
strong  German  accent.  "  I  will  help  you  with  the 
lights,  for  the  Dona  Carmel  scarcely  can  come  now. 
Even  the  doctor  can  not  say  how  soon  the  end  is." 

He  rested  himself  on  one  of  the  long  wooden 
benches,  while  the  boy  jangled  the  bells  in  the  usual 
discordant  clamor  of  a  Mexican  chapel.  Sargent 
exclaimed  at  the  racket,  but  the  old  man  smiled. 

"They  have  no  nerves,  these  Mexicans,"  he 
remarked.  'Yes,  they  can  all  strum  a  guitar,  or  sing 
a  serenade,  but  that  is  what  they  all  do  to  the  mission 
bells.  It  sounds  like  hammers  and  anvil.  Once  they 
say  there  were  men  who  could  ring  chimes  on  them  in 
this  valley,  but  in  forty  years  I  have  heard  no  chimes  !  " 

Sargent  offered  him  a  cigar  as  he  studied  the  quaint, 
square  face. 


28  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Forty  years !  Yet  you  do  not  appear  as  a  native," 
he  remarked. 

"Sailor  once,  sheep  man  now.  Don  Andres  they 
call  me.  Every  white  man  was  a  *  don '  in  the  old  days. 
I  come  in,  bought  sheep,  got  a  good  herder,  and  sailed 
away.  A  three  years  of  cruise  and  I  am  back  again. 
It  is  a  good  harbor,  and  I  am  still  here.  Before  Don 
Lee  came  in  with  the  Mormons  I  am  here.  He  gets 
the  wife,  and  the  horses,  and  cattle,  and  is  a  big  man 
to  these  people.  I  stick  to  sheep,  and  I  am  now  the 
only  one  of  his  sort  left  to  have  the  bells  ring  for 
him.  When  I  go  there  will  be  only  some  old  Mexicans 
and  Indians  to  tell  how  it  was  when  I  come  into  the 
harbor. .  These  new  Americans  never  will  know.  San 
Juan  was  a  place  where  great  games  were  played. 
Down  by  the  sea  was  the  race  course  and  place  of  the 
bull  fights.  A  cart  full  of  adobe  dollars  I  have  seen 
hauled  down  the  valley  for  making  the  bets.  There 
are  no  such  games  now  in  California,  and  none  of  the 
old-time  grandees.  Don  Lee  was  nearest  to  it;  he  was 
like  a  big  prince  out  of  a  book  to  all  these  people,  and 
there  will  be  no  more  like  that." 

uWho  is  the  girl  who  rode  the  cream  horse  today 
from  Aliso  Canon  and  swam  the  river?" 

The  old  man  shrugged  and  smiled. 

"  If  you  ask  her  cousins,  Maria  and  Dolores,  they 
will  tell  you  she  is  at  least  the  granddaughter  of  the 
devil;  that  is  because  she  is  a  heretic,  like  me,"  and  he 
lit  the  cigar  and  puffed  it  contentedly.  "  To  these  peo- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  29 

pie  all  are  heretics  except  their  own.  Querida  is  the 
niece  of  Don  Lee,  the  child  of  his  sister.  The  father 
brought  her,  a  little  toddler,  to  California  and  left  her 
with  Dona  Margarita  and  her  cloudy  brood  —  not  one 
of  Don  Lee's  children  but  look  like  their  own  Mexican 
ancestors.  The  father  of  that  girl  was  a  great  scholar, 
so  I  know;  it  was  good  to  hear  his  German.  He  went 
to  Mexico  to  study  the  Indian  people  and  their  old- 
time  writings,  for  they  did  have  their  own  kind  of 
books,  the  old  Mexicans.  Well,  he  died  there,  did 
Don  Roberto,  of  a  fever,  and  little  Querida  lives  on 
like  his  own  with  Don  Lee.  That  poor  Querida ! 
maybe  it  goes  hard  with  her  now.  You  saw  that 
ride?" 

Sargent  told  him,  and  the  old  fellow  listened, 
nodding  and  comprehending  more  than  the  two 
Americans. 

"  Manuel's  horse  lost  the  race  to  that  palomino 
last  week,"  he  remarked.  "  Maybe  he  thinks  it  is  easy 
to  get  rid  of  it  if  the  quicksands  help  him,  or  the  river 
takes  them  out  to  sea." 

" But  the  girl?" 

"The  girl  is  as  a  thorn  to  Manuel;  his  vanity  has 
been  hurt  and  his  horse  beaten  by  her  —  also  she  is  an 
outsider.  Manuel  would  burn  her  as  a  witch  and  his 
conscience  would  not  make  him  trouble.  To  be  a  girl 
in  that  brood,  and  be  a  heretic  is  a  bad  thing  here. 
Manuel  is  the  nephew  of  the  padre  " 

Sargent  sat  listening  to  these  grim,  matter  of  fact 


30  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

statements  from  the  old  gossip,  who  chuckled  at  being 
regarded  as  a  heretic,  yet  conceded  it  was  a  bad  thing 
for  a  girl. 

And  after  they  talked  of  many  things,  and  the  purple 
dusk  had  fallen,  the  boy  came  back  with  the  chapel 
key.  Don  Andres  went  to  the  door  to  see  that  he  lit 
the  candles  on  the  little  wall  brackets,  and  directly  the 
Mexicans  began  to  straggle  out  from  doorways  and 
gardens  and  across  the  plaza.  Then  the  padre  came 
up  with  two  men  who  spoke  English.  Sargent  con 
cluded  they  were  the  doctor  and  lawyer  from  the  city, 
but  he  kept  to  his  shadowy  corner  where  the  ivy  grew. 
The  devout  Mexican  women,  with  the  black  mantillas, 
and  the  swarthy  vaqueros  and  barefoot  children  were 
more  in  accord  with  the  scene  than  the  yawning,  bored, 
professional  men,  who  peered  into  the  little  chapel, 
where  the  more  devout  knelt  on  the  tiled  floor,  and 
then  sauntered  again  to  the  village  street. 

"  Sometimes,  when  the  boys  are  drinking  wine,  and 
not  working,  they  are  not  so  respectful,  and  they  make 
foolishness  in  the  plaza  even  with  the  prayers  inside 
the  chapel,"  remarked  the  old  man,  "so  I  stay  here 
and  keep  watch.  It  is  a  disgrace  if  they  interrupt  a 
prayer  for  Don  Lee  —  there  are  his  daughters,  Maria 
and  Dolores.  Maria  is  the  beauty,  and  is  soon  to 
marry  with  a  rich  boy  of  the  valley." 

Maria  certainly  was  a  beauty,  but  would  have  been 
more  truly  so  had  it  not  been  for  the  dead  white 
powder  and  frank  rouge  on  her  young  cheek.  It  was 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  31 

startling  to  Sargent,  who  had  not  hithertofore  come 
in  contact  with  this  lurid  custom  of  many  Mexican 
ladies.  But  she  was  slender,  with  a  pretty  oval  face, 
big  black  eyes  and  magnificent  black  hair.  A  string  of 
pearls  circled  her  round  throat,  and  little  crosses  of 
them  formed  her  earrings.  She  carried  herself  as  if 
used  to  admiration,  while  her  younger,  less  brilliant 
sister  wore  amber  beads  and  a  rebosa  of  amber  silk 
over  her  white  gown.  Neither  of  them  seemed  in 
grief;  each  noted  and  acknowledged  the  greetings  of 
the  villagers  as  the  light  from  the  chapel  door  streamed 
out  in  the  growing  dusk.  The  padre  had  lit  the  candles 
on  the  altar,  and  each  figure  was  silhouetted  against 
the  glow  as  they  entered  the  doorway. 

And  then  a  woman  came  quickly  across  the  twilight 
of  the  plaza,  and  halted  a  moment  ere  she  entered. 
Sargent  sat  up  in  astonishment,  and  Don  Andres  beside 
him  turned  at  his  gasp  of  surprise.  The  others  had 
been  of  the  ordinary  peasant  type  —  even  those  who 
wore  jewels  and  were  pretty. 

This  one  wore  no  jewels,  and  the  silk  of  her  dress 
and  lace  of  her  mantilla  were  dead  black  and  very 
fine.  There  was  pride  in  the  carriage  of  her  head, 
yet  a  strange  humility  in  her  eyes,  but  beyond  all  there 
was  a  still  atmosphere  of  sadness  in  the  dark  eyes  and 
high-bred  Spanish  face;  it  enfolded  her,  as  did  the 
drapery  of  black  lace  falling  to  her  little  slippered  feet. 
In  her  hand  were  white  lilies  for  the  altar  —  the  get 
ting  of  them  had  evidently  delayed  her  a  trifle  —  and 


32  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

she  halted  on  the  threshold,  either  to  reassure  herself 
concerning  the  progress  of  the  service,  or  to  regain  her 
breath,  for  she  had  hurried.  Only  an  instant  she  stood 
in  the  ray  of  light  from  the  altar.  It  touched  her  lightly 
as  the  rays  of  the  sun  outlined  the  slender  curve  of  the 
new  moon,  leaving  the  rest  in  shadow.  She  suggested 
a  dark  and  very  perfect  star  crossing  some  path  of 
brightness  and  melting  again  into  dusk,  and  a  moment 
later  the  silken  folds  of  her  gown  rustled  on  the  bare 
tiles  as  she  knelt  in  the  aisle  beside  an  old  Indian 
woman  bare  of  foot  and  workworn  with  years. 

To  Sargent  her  coming  out  of  the  twilight  and, 
after  one  glowing  moment,  sinking  into  a  mass  of 
sombre,  lace-draped  curves,  was  as  a  vision  of  Old 
Spain  seen  through  the  Moorish  arch  of  the  corridor  — 
Old  Spain  with  the  heart  of  youth  and  the  foreboding 
sadness  of  death.  She  looked  perhaps  thirty-five. 

"What  a  wonder  of  a  woman!"  breathed  Sargent 
"  I  know  artists  who  would  cross  land  and  sea  for  one 
picture  of  her  like  that!" 

"Some  have  come  here  for  that,  but  always  went 
away  again.  Don  Lee  saw  to  it  that  they  went  away," 
and  the  old  man  chuckled.  "All  he  in  this  valley  got 
he  held  to  since  the  day  he  camped  first  under  the  live 
oaks  over  there  —  except,  of  course,  what  a  man  would 
lose  on  a  game  or  a  race.  Horses  and  women  he 
could  keep ! " 

"Horses  and  women!  But  these  girls  of  his  family 
are  different,  without  blood  or  race,  and  you  say  they 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  33 

are  like  their  mother's  people!  This  woman  — 
heavens !  She  is  all  twilight  and  white  lilies  and  burn 
ing  eyes.  She  is  a  princess  or  a  ghost  of  Moorish 
Spain!" 

"  One  grandfather  was  Gobernador  of  Old  Cali 
fornia/'  said  Don  Andres,  quietly.  "  One  was  a  sol 
dier  of  Mexico,  and  her  father  was  a  priest.  Yes,  it 
was  good  blood! " 

"  A  priest!" 

"The  bishop  sent  him  somewhere  else  for  Indian 
missions  after  that.  He  never  came  back  to  California. 
There  was  no  trouble  about  it.  The  mother  was  a 
good  daughter  of  the  church  while  she  lived;  her  child 
was  a  new  toy  without  a  name  in  the  house  of  the  old 
Gobernador  while  he  lived;  but  after  that  —  and  all 
the  money  was  gone,  well  —  after  that  Don  Lee  sees 
her,  and  a  girl  is  not  a  meadow-lark  to  grow  her 
clothes  and  pick  her  food  from  the  fields !  Yes,  Don 
Lee  saw  her  and  that  is  more  than  ten  years  now; 
yes,  more  than  twelve.  There  was  no  woman  in  his 
house  save  such  as  men  always  have,  and  his  children 
were  running  wild.  Now  I  hear  these  same  children 
are  wild  in  another  way — with  fear  that  at  the  last 
he  might  marry  her;  men  do  strange  things  like  that 
at  the  last  sometimes!  It  would  be  bad,  and  some 
accident  would  surely  happen  her  in  some  night  time." 

"  Good  heavens !  Yet  in  breeding  and  training  she 
is  no  doubt  the  superior  of  the  woman  he  did  marry!  " 

"  Sure,  she  can  read  and  can  write,  but  it  would  make 


34  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

trouble.  They  are  jealous  of  her  like  they  are  of  little 
Querida;  just  the  same,  Don  Lee  gives  her,  long  ago, 
the  little  house  and  orchard,  and  even  that  made  jeal 
ousy  with  the  children  —  they  love  money  —  it  was  his 
own  money,  too.  But  I  think  the  padre  would  find 
some  reason  not  to  make  a  marriage  between  Don  Lee 
and  Dona  Carmel,  though  everyone  knows  her  a  saint 
—  and  to  his  children  she  has  been  also  a  martyr." 

"  Dona  Carmel !    That  is  Dona  Carmel? " 

"  Surely,  and,  as  I  say,  she  has  been  also  a  martyr. 
No  Indian  slave  would  do  for  his  children  what  she 
has  done  these  years  —  that  is  how  it  is  with  a  woman 
of  race  and  blood  who  is  faithful  to  a  Don  Lee.  It 
is  all  no  use  if  she  has  not  also  the  name ! " 

There  was  a  slight  tinge  of  bitterness  in  the  old 
man's  voice  at  the  last,  though  all  the  rest  of  his  ram 
bling,  low  toned  discourse  had  been  quite  casual,  as  a 
series  of  incidents  long  familiar  and  often  discussed. 

u  But  it  is  incredible !  A  woman  like  that,  charming, 
well  bred,  could  have  the  world  at  her  feet  instead  of 
being  the  patron  saint  of  an  old  Indian  pueblo.  The 
world  makes  a  way  for  such  women,  and  some  of  them 
have  worn  crowns !  " 

"When  a  woman  like  Dona  Carmel  has  love  for  a 
man  a  crown  is  not  of  so  much  worth  as  a  crust  of 
bread  he  could  give  her.  I  have  years,  and  I  have  seen 
that  in  many  lands.  It  looks  foolish  to  the  world,  but 
the  women  who  care  for  crowns  could  never  in  a  life- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  35 

time  know  a  minute  of  the  heart  of  Dona  Carmelita. 
She  thinks  she  adores  the  saints  and  the  God.  Maybe 
once  it  was  so,  but  not  now  —  not  since  she  has  come  to 
San  Juan.  I  wonder  sometimes  if  she  even  lives  when 
he  is  gone,  so  much  she  lives  her  life  in  his !  " 

The  voice  of  the  old  man  trailed  away  thoughtfully. 
The  village  tragedy  had  stirred  up  buried  things  and 
memories,  and  to  utter  them  to  a  stranger  was  as  if 
they  were  spoken  to  oneself,  or  only  thought. 

"What  a  brute  the  man  must  be!"  said  Sargent; 
but  Don  Andres  lifted  his  hand  in  protest. 

"  No,  no !  He  has  done  good  to  many.  Many  men 
have  little  ranches  today  of  their  own,  and  have  good 
houses  for  wives  and  children  who  were  given  their 
first  start  with  the  cattle  and  the  flour  of  Don  Lee. 
Everyone  says  that.  All  say  he  was  a  good  padrone ; 
all  these  people  on  their  knees  in  there  are  praying 
for  him  —  that  says  something!" 

"  Perhaps  it  says  they  want  patronage  from  his 
children  when  he  is  gone,"  agreed  Sargent;  "but  to 
take  the  girl,  a  girl  like  that,  to  take  advantage  of  such 
feeling  as  she  had  for  him,  and  then  not  protect  her! " 

"It  would  have  made  trouble,"  persisted  the  old 
man.  "  There  was  a  time  when  the  name  of  Don  Lee 
was  spoken  of  for  Gobernador.  It  would  have  made 
trouble — the  American  papers  print  all  things.  Yes, 
she  was  as  his  slave,  and  had  beauty,  and  was  a  saint  in 
her  heart,  and  had  the  blood  of  learned  people,  but 


36  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

all  would  go  for  nothing  when  the  name  of  her  father 
was  not  given  to  her  by  the  church  —  all  would  go  for 
nothing  for  a  wife  of  a  Gobernador." 

"  If  he  was  a  man  he  would  send  the  nomination 
to  hell,  marry  the  woman,  and  take  her  out  of  the 
country ! " 

u  Don  Lee  was  a  man,  but  not  that  kind  of  a  man. 
To  go  to  a  strange  land  would  lose  for  him  all  the 
power  here,  and  he  had  much  power.  No,  he  lived 
as  was  the  custom.  No  one  thought  ill  of  him.  The 
satin  slippers  and  laces  show  he  was  kind,  and  there 
is  the  little  house  in  the  orchard  all  her  own.  No  one 
thinks  ill  of  Don  Lee." 

"He  is  kind  and  she  is  saintly!"  said  Sargent, 
grimly.  "Then  why  should  she  be  barred  from  mar 
riage,  when  men  marry  women  who  are  not  saintly 
every  day?  In  this  valley,  at  the  edge  of  a  world, 
what  difference  would  it  make  to  society?" 

"  It  is  the  custom.  So  long  as  he  does  not  marry 
her  she  is  not  seen  to  belong  to  him,  and  his  fine 
friends  come  down  with  their  wives  from  Los  Angeles 
and  visit  and  ride  and  have  great  sports.  They  close 
their  eyes  to  the  woman  who  lives  in  the  little  house 
of  the  orange  orchard;  she  is  not  of  his  family!  But 
if  he  makes  a  marriage  with  a  daughter  of  a  priest  it 
would  be  a  scandal  and  no  wives  would  come  with  the 
husbands.  It  is  strange,  and  it  is  the  women  who  do 
it,  not  the  men,  but  it  is  the  custom.  To  get  to  the 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  37 

bottom  of  it  is  a  big  trouble.  Don  Lee  did  the  easiest 
thing  when  he  did  not  marry." 

" Easiest  for  him,  perhaps,  but  what  of  the  woman? 
What  will  become  of  her?" 

"  Here  the  people  adore  her,  they  understand,  and 
she  has  her  little  house  and  a  shrine  in  it,  where  the 
light  never  goes  out.  That  helps  some  women,  many 


women." 


His  voice  trailed  away  again  as  if  talking  to  con 
vince  himself.  He  was  evidently  tired;  it  had  been  a 
day  of  excitement,  and  he  was  old. 

The  "Ave  Maria"  came  to  them  as  the  moon  came 
over  San  Juan  mountain,  and  then  the  murmur  of 
voices,  and  the  tones  of  the  padre  in  the  final  blessing. 
The  people  came  slowly  out,  but  once  beyond  the  cor 
ridor  fell  to  chatting,  and  flirting,  and  laughing  softly 
as  they  went  through  the  plaza.  No  one  noticed  the 
two  men  in  the  old  seat  by  the  wall ;  the  ivy  and  a  great 
rosebush  screened  them. 

Anastacio  emerged  and  stood  at  the  door  with  the 
key.  The  padre  entered  the  sacristy  to  doff  his  cas 
sock,  and  came  out  through  a  side  door,  greeting  the 
old  man  airily. 

"Hi!  Don  Andres,  do  I  find  you  making  your  devo 
tions  outside  the  chapel  in  the  dark?  Well,  well,  at 
last  we  will  get  you  inside  and  save  you  in  spite  of 
yourself!  Come,  we  will  walk  down  to  Don  Lee's 
and  have  a  glass  of  good  wine,  and  then  you  will  tell 


38  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

us  some  of  the  pirate  tales  your  old  captains  told,'* 
and  he  moved  on  to  greet  a  group  loitering  for  him  in 
the  plaza,  taking  it  for  granted  the  old  man  would 
follow. 

Don  Andres  straightened  up  and  touched  his 
sombrero  to  Sargent. 

"Adios,  compadre"  he  said,  whimsically,  "we  cov 
ered  forty  years  here  in  the  old  mission  in  not  more 
than  forty  minutes.  I  had  joy  in  your  cigar  even  if 
you  did  not  flavor  it  with  charity." 

"Charity?" 

"Yes,  you  could  give  Don  Lee  justice,  but  I  could 
not  find  mercy  in  your  words,  or  —  understanding. 
You  are  young.  Come  you  back  to  San  Juan  in  ten 
years,  or  when  you  are  the  age  of  Don  Lee,  and  watch 
the  moon  rise  over  the  ruins  once  again.  Adiosl" 

"Adios!  If  I  do  come  back,  and  it  should  be  twenty 
years,  I  shall  not  forget  the  twilight  here  —  or  your 
story!" 

"A  man  can  forget  and  remember  again  many  times 
in  twenty  years,"  said  the  old  man  as  he  moved  away. 
;<You  are  still  young." 

Sargent  laughed,  and  keeping  pace  he  thrust  some 
more  of  the  approved  cigars  into  his  hand,  and  moved 
hastily  back  to  avoid  his  thanks  or  remonstrance.  In 
doing  so  he  came  close  to  Anastacio,  still  at  the  door, 
his  hat  in  his  hand  and  his  head  bent.  He  had  made 
no  move  to  snuff  the  candles  even  on  the  altar. 

Sargent,  looking  through  the  door,  saw  why.     The 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  39 

woman  —  in  his  mind  he  already  called  her  "The 
Woman  of  the  Twilight" — was  kneeling  at  the  altar 
of  the  Virgin,  and  the  lilies  were  heaped  about  the 
feet  of  the  statue.  The  service  of  the  padre  had  been 
conventional,  but  there  was  nothing  conventional  in 
the  silent  prayer  of  the  woman  as  she  knelt  with  up- 
reached  arms  and  face  lifted  to  the  goddess  of  mother- 
love.  The  lace  had  fallen  from  her  hair,  and  the  slow 
tears  brimming  over  her  wide-open  eyes  accentuated 
the  very  essence  of  supplication  in  her  face. 

The  hand  of  Sargent  fell  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
boy  as  he  drew  him  from  the  sight  of  a  grief  too  per 
sonal  for  other  eyes,  and  as  he  did  so  he  remembered 
Don  Andres1  words,  u  These  Mexicans  have  no 
nerves."  For  Anastacio  was  sorry  for  Dona  Carmel, 
and  respectful,  yet  once  away  from  the  sight  of  her 
tears  he  was  eager  and  interested  in  other  things. 

uYou  seeing  Don  Andres  and  hearing  him  talk?" 
he  said.  "  Chris  to!  how  he  can  remember  in  his  mind. 
They  say  his  head  was  hit  on  a  ship  and  when  he  is 
asked  question  he  forgets  to  stop  with  the  talk.  But 
me,  I  wishing  I  had  to  see  all  the  places  he  has  seen, 
there  is  more  than  fifty  places!  But  he  has  make 
money  on  the  sheep,  plenty  money,  and  he  talks  four 
ways  for  the  different  countries." 

"Is  he  married?"  asked  Sargent. 

"  Who,  Don  Andres?  No,  he  is  not  marry.  Dona 
Marta,  who  is  Indio,  she  keeping  his  house,  and  do  all 
what  is  done.  Chris  to!  how  she  whipping  the  boys 


4<D  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

who  make  to  steal  the  figs  in  her  garden.  No,  not  so 
many  Americanos  marry,  only  Don  Lee  once,  that  was 
long  ago.  Don  Andres  is  not  Americano;  he  is  not 
Spanish,  but  he  coming  here  a  long  time  now.  My 
grandfather,  he  is  remembering  that  time." 

They  had  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  corridor, 
and  in  the  moonlight  Sargent  could  make  out  a  pinto 
cow  pony  coming  up  the  road.  His  attention  for  a 
moment  was  concentrated  on  trying  to  make  out  if  it 
was  or  was  not  Gilman  returning  from  the  beach,  and 
he  did  not  see  a  slender  figure  like  a  low-flying  night 
bird  under  the  orange  trees  until  it  had  almost  reached 
the  chapel  door. 

"  It  is  La  Querida,"  stated  Anastacio.  "  She  never 
comes  for  prayer,  she  is  heretic,  but  always  she  comes 
for  Dona  Carmel  in  the  night,  for  Dona  Carmel  is 
scare  of  the  darkness.  No  Spanish  senorita  would 
come  here  where  ghosts  are  —  only  La  Querida.  She 
is  like  a  boy,  that  girl.  Manuel  Morro  says  she  is  a 
witch  and  is  bad.  I  no  knowing  how  that  is,  but  Dona 
Carmel  sure  is  knowing,  and  is  loving  her  —  mucho." 
They  had  halted  under  the  pepper  tree,  and  could 
see  that  by  someone  the  lights  on  the  altar  were  being 
extinguished  one  by  one,  until  the  chapel  was  more 
dusky  than  the  moonlit  plaza.  Then,  when  only  one 
candle  was  left  glimmering  in  its  sconce  on  the  wall, 
the  woman  of  the  lilies  was  led  through  the  door  by 
the  girl,  and  her  rich  contralto  voice  called  impera 
tively. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  41 

"Anastacio !  where  is  that  key?" 

Anastacio  pressed  the  arm  of  Sargent  for  silence  ere 
he  ran  forward  with  silent  bare  feet. 

"  It  is  here,  Senorita!  I  have  wait  to  make  the  door 
lock.  I  not  going  away  while  Dona  Carmel  is  at  the 
altar." 

"H'm!"  Sargent  could  not  see  the  face  of  the 
girl,  but  he  could  note  the  irony  of  the  tone.  "  Since 
when  are  you  so  fine  a  caballero,  Anastacio?  And 
what  will  you  expect  for  it  tomorrow?  Lock  the  door 
and  follow." 

Anastacio  padded  past  her  into  the  chapel  to  blow 
out  the  candle,  and  the  two  strange,  shadowy  figures 
passed  near  to  Sargent,  who  leaned  against  the  bole 
of  the  pepper  tree.  Their  arms  circled  each  other, 
and  the  woman  of  the  tragic  life  rested  her  head  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  girl,  who  walked  with  a  certain  pride 
and  dominance. 

"  It  is  for  you  also  I  am  praying,  Querida,"  said 
Dona  Carmel,  sadly.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  there  in  the 
house,  Maria  always  is  listening.  But  it  will  be  well 
with  you,  and  you  will  go  away  from  San  Juan.  I 
write  yesterday  a  telegram  for  Don  Lee  to  a  friend,  an 
Americano  in  San  Francisco.  He  will  come,  he  will 
take  you  to  maybe  your  own  people." 

"  I  have  no  own  people !  "  said  the  girl.  "  I  will 
stay  with  you.  I  have  no  people  but  a  black  woman 
who  was  my  nurse  —  she  is  South,  far  away,  where  my 
mother  died  —  I  will  stay  with  you!" 


42  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  And  carry  always  a  dagger,  Querida?"  asked  the 
woman,  sadly.  "No,  poor  little  one,  the  American 
friends  will  come  and  will  take  you  where  it  is  safe. 
I  am  not  strong  enough,  alone,  to  guard  you.  And 
always  I  will  be  —  alone!" 

Sargent,  with  the  story  of  her  life  yet  murmuring 
through  his  mind,  felt  the  tears  in  his  eyes  at  the 
pathos  in  her  voice,  but  the  girl  threw  up  her  head  in 
disdain  of  all  danger. 

"Huh!"  and  her  exclamation  sounded  to  Sargent 
half  Indian,  "  I  can  guard  myself  from  all  danger, 
always.  Where  is  that  boy?  He  needs  the  reata  — 
all  of  them  are  full  of  tricks !  " 

"  I  am  here,  Senorita,  and  here  is  the  key,1*  said  the 
agile  Anastacio  as  he  sped  past  Sargent.  "  I  am  walk 
ing  behind  you  to  the  door  of  your  house. " 

He  delivered  the  key,  and  then  fell  behind,  and 
promptly  sped  back  to  Sargent  under  the  pepper  tree. 

"Adios,  Sehor"  he  whispered.  "  I  sure  get  that 
reata  to  morrow  if  she  knowing  I  let  her  go  past  you 
in  the  dark  so  close  you  could  touch  her  with  the  hand ! 
Your  friend,  he  is  coming,  and  I  not  seeing  you  any 
more,  but  you  not  forgetting  San  Juan?  Adios,  and 
gracios  Senor,  mucho  gracios!" 

In  his  delight  at  the  dollar  slipped  into  his  hand  he 
almost  forgot  his  English,  also  his  whisper,  and  only 
the  arrival  of  Gilman,  halting  by  the  automobile,  saved 
him  from  the  discovery  of  having  had  a  companion  in 
the  plaza. 


"And  always  I  will  be — alone" 


44  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

something.  4  My  Woman  of  the  Twilight'  is  perfect 
to  me  as  I  see  her;  I  don't  want  to  see  her  in  any  other 
light.  She  is  love,  primitive  love  touched  by  religious 
fervor,  not  a  thought  of  political  or  social  law,  only  the 
law  of  human  nature  confused  and  puzzled  by  rulings 
of  state ! " 

"H'm,  yes,"  grunted  Gilman,  "you'll  sober  up  to 
morrow,  but  pueblo  wine  does  give  one  a  devil  of  a 
headache.  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  we  are  going 
to  strike  next  on  the  way  to  supper?" 

For  they  had  reached  a  narrow  place  in  the  road 
between  the  mesa  and  a  barranca,  and  a  waving  light 
was  in  the  road,  while  a  man,  swearing  and  unseen, 
was  tinkering  under  an  automobile.  A  chauffeur,  shaky 
but  polite,  was  waving  the  lantern. 

"  No,  sir,"  he  said  in  reply  to  Oilman's  query.  "  I 
don't  think  we  need  any  assistance.  It  is  all  right  now, 
sir,  and  if  you  will  only  go  carefully  you  can  make  it 
around  us,  but  in  a  minute  or  more,  sir,  we  will  be  out 
of  the  way." 

The  man  from  under  the  car  crawled  out,  growling 
about  having  been  given  an  old  junk  heap  for  a  car, 
also  stating  what  he  would  do  to  the  garage  people 
when  he  got  back  to  Los  Angeles. 

He  gave  no  heed  whatever  to  the  two  men  in  the 
other  car. 

"Go  ahead!"  he  said,  curtly.  "It's  dollars  to 
doughnuts  we  won't  reach  San  Juan  tonight  at  this 
rate!" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  45 

As  the  car  started  slowly  the  light  flashed  on  the 
face  of  the  speaker  and  Gilman  whistled  softly  as  he 
sped  his  own  car  ahead. 

"Say,"  he  remarked,  "what  do  you  suppose  any  of 
the  simon-pure  Plymouth  Rock  breed  is  after  on  this 
mesa  trail?  That  sure  did  look  like  Glyndon  Wayne 
of  'way  down  East.  I  had  to  interview  him  once  on  a 
gambling  mix-up,  but  his  folks  came  in  and  fairly 
bought  up  the  paper  to  squelch  my  brilliant  article." 

"The  only  Wayne  I  know  is  a  pretty  girl.  Don't 
know  your  traveler,"  said  Sargent.  In  fact,  he  had 
scarcely  seen  the  man  —  his  mind  was  full  of  a  mission 
plaza,  and  a  woman  like  the  new  moon  at  twilight. 

'You  are  no  poorer,"  was  Oilman's  comment.  "He 
has  sown  wild  oats  enough  to  make  up  for  all  the  sup 
pression  of  his  Puritan  ancestors.  This  looks  like  a 
clear  road  ahead,  and  if  you  went  to  prayer  meeting 
at  that  old  chapel  I  hope  you  said  at  least  one  prayer 
for  a  good  supper  at  Santa  Ana !  I  'm  starving.  Me 
for  the  fatted  sheep  and  the  festive  high-ball." 


CHAPTER  II 

^T^HE  sun  was  high  above  the  hills  when  the  doctor 
-*•  from  Los  Angeles,  followed  by  a  servant  with 
coffee,  went  to  the  guest  chamber  of  the  hacienda  and 
aroused  the  man  who  had  arrived  so  late  in  the 
automobile. 

"  He  is  awake  and  can  see  you  now,  Mr.  Wayne.  I 
had  to  give  him  that  morphine  to  brace  him  up  for  the 
talk  he  wants.  To  talk  won't  hurt  him  as  much  as  to 
fret  about  it.  So  go  ahead;  he  is  good  for  a  spurt, 
but  only  his  marvelous  strength  has  staved  off  the  final 
collapse.  The  man  has  been  actually  dying  for  over 
twenty-four  hours.  While  you  see  him  I  will  take  a 
rest  and  trust  you  and  Dona  Carmel.  Keep  out  his 
various  groups  of  children  unless  he  asks  for  them. 
He  only  seems  to  worry  about  that  younger  one,  the 
fair  one;  they  tell  me  she  is  his  niece  instead  of 
daughter  —  Querida  they  call  her — but  when  I  called 
her  that  she  called  me  down!  a  pugnacious  little  ani 
mal —  informed  me  her  name  was  Monica,  and 
Querida  was  only  a  baby  name  and  not  for  strangers.'* 

The  stranger  heard  this  without  comment  as  he  swal 
lowed  his  coffee,  adjusted  collar  and  tie  and  slipped  on 
coat. 

The  doctor  had  stretched  himself  out  on  a  couch 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  47 

watching  him,  and  wondering  why,  since  the  lawyer 
had  attended  to  all  legal  details,  the  coming  of  this 
stranger  had  been  so  eagerly  waited  for  by  Lee 
Bronson. 

As  he  passed  along  the  hall  he  met  the  pretty  Maria, 
who  welcomed  him  with  sweet,  conventional  phrase, 
and  Dona  Carmel,  who  had  no  words,  but  whose  dark 
eyes  told  her  fears. 

She  followed  him  into  the  room  of  Don  Lee, 
arranged  the  pillows,  gave  him  a  glass  of  water  and 
then  slipped  out  like  a  shadow,  after  murmuring  some 
warning  to  little  Juanito,  who  plied  a  great  fan  of  pea 
cock  feathers.  Juanito  was  the  little  brown  Mercury 
who  served  Don  Lee  instead  of  a  bell. 

The  man  on  the  bed  reached  out  his  hand  but  said 
no  word  of  greeting.  He  was  looking  as  with  new 
eyes  on  an  old  comrade,  seeking  to  find  that  which 
had  been  lacking  in  the  others  around  him.  He  saw  a 
man  about  forty,  good-looking  and  self-satisfied;  a  man 
who  carried  himself  with  a  consciousness  of  domina 
tion,  yet  it  had  something  of  the  quality  of  a  pretty 
woman  used  to  admiration.  Not  that  he  was  effem 
inate,  yet  beside  the  rugged  herculean  man  on  the  bed 
he  almost  looked  so.  His  dress  was  rather  that  of  the 
clubs  than  of  the  ranges,  and  if  he  had  been  English 
he  would  have  been  deemed  a  remittance  man  by  the 
average  Californian.  His  hands  were  small  and  well 
cared  for,  and  his  eyes  so  dark  that  under  their  curled 
black  lashes  they  looked  almost  black.  They  were 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


quick,  restless  eyes,  and  took  in  the  entire  room  at  a 
glance.  The  steady  gaze  of  Don  Lee  made  them 
waver,  and  he  sighed  and  seated  himself  by  the  bed. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  has  come  to  this,  Bronson,"  he  said, 
"and  if  it  was  legal  details,  or — " 

"  No,  it  is  personal,  family,"  said  Don  Lee,  still 
gazing  at  him  in  that  speculative  way  difficult  to  under 
stand.  "  I  don't  know,  we  have  been  friends,  even 
partners  at  times,  for  twenty  years,  you  and  me.  You 
know  all  this,"  and  he  made  a  slight  gesture,  indicating 
either  the  household  or  the  endless  ranges,  "  and  I  'm 
wondering — " 

"Don't  wonder  or  waste  strength,  Bronson.  I 
opened  the  telegram  and  caught  the  first  train.  If  it's 
a  family  affair  I  'm  not  sure  but  what  I  could  beat  a 
lawyer,  for  your  family  has  always  been  quite  a  propo 
sition  with  its  various  shadings.  I  am  at  least  elastic." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  was  thinking — I  never  thought 
of  it  before — you've  been  ranging,  and — " 

"And  not  always  popular  with  my  own  folks.  You 
were  lucky  enough  to  be  born  in  Georgia  instead  of 
Massachusetts,  so  you  never  knew  what  it  meant  to 
have  to  fit  yourself  into  a  Puritan  scale  of  thought,  or 
else  be  tabooed  as  the  black  sheep ;  but  if  those  Nevada 
shares  pan  out  big  I  '11  go  back  and  make  them  all  sit 
up  and  take  notice !  But  now,  right  here,  what  can  I 
do  for  your  family?  I  hear  your  little  beauty,  Maria, 
is  to  marry  the  son  of  Galvez  soon,  and  you  say  the 
legal  things  are  settled." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  49 

"Yes,  Dona  Margarita's  children,  of  course,  were 
arranged  for.  That  part  of  the  estate  will  not  be 
divided.  Maria  will  have  this  home  —  she  and  Galvez 
will  keep  up  the  old  Spanish  ways  —  her  mother's  way. 
The  wedding  must  not  wait  because  of  —  this.  I  have 
told  the  padre  and  the  boys,  Jose  and  Ricardo  —  they 
will  manage  the  ranch  matters.  There  is  money  enough 
for  all.  But  Monica,  my  little  one,  Querida — " 

He  was  silent  a  bit  while  Wayne  watched  him,  wait 
ing.  When  he  did  speak  it  was  to  ask,  "Where  have 
you  been  these  months?  It's  a  year  since  you  were 
here  last." 

"Yes.     I  was  in  Mexico  a  while,  then  San  Fran 


cisco." 


"Is  there  a  —  woman  there?" 
"  For  me  ?    No  one  woman  anywhere." 
There  was  a  long  silence.   He  seemed  trying  to  make 
plans,  yet  helpless. 

"  Bronson,  speak  out.  You  want  me  to  do  some 
thing.  Don't  worry  and  think  over  it;  tell  me  straight, 
that's  why  I'm  here." 

"  It 's  the  child,  Monica ;  she  will  be  a  woman.  Not 
a  woman  for  this  black  and  tan  region!  You  —  you 
never  knew  her  mother,  else  you  'd  see  why.  The 
blood  is  different.  She  is  a  little  rebel  to  everything 
here,  and  a  fighter,  like  a  boy.  You  see  it  was  a  boy 
her  mother  wanted,  not  a  girl,  and  now,  now — " 

"I  see.  You  want  me  to  do  something  for  her  — 
what?" 


5O  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Marry  her." 

Wayne  stared  at  him  with  the  thought  that  delirium 
had  taken  a  hand  in  the  game.  Lee  Bronson  sensed  it 
and  smiled  in  a  wan,  troubled  way. 

"No,  I'm  not  loco,  yet,  but  I've  been  milling  this 
thing  in  my  mind  ever  since  the  doctor  gave  his  verdict. 
I  have  no  folks,  her  father's  people  are  all  gone,  there 
is  a  little  plantation  down  there  in  Georgia  for  her, 
some  money  here.  It  is  n't  money,  it's  folks  she  needs. 
You  have  them  and  are  —  free.  The  padre  knows  I 
want  it  this  way  —  he  will  talk  to  her.  Take  her  as  a 
boy,  a  protege;  let  the  marriage  relation  side  of  the 
question  go  —  only  protect  her  by  your  name  for  a  few 
years.  She  is  not  safe  here  —  a  white  snowdrop  in 
this  brown  hell,  and  all  these  half-castes  watching  her 
like  wolves!  Can't  you  see?  I'd  send  her  to  a  con 
vent,  but  in  the  end  this  is  where  she  'd  come  back  to  — 
to  her  only  home.  I  want  a  different  home.  This  is 
all  right,  a  sort  of  paradise  for  a  man,  but  it  would  be 
hell  for  a  girl  who  is  —  who  is  different  from  all  the 
rest.  That's  what  I  had  on  my  mind  —  that's  all." 

Wayne  walked  to  the  window  and  stared  out  over 
the  eucalyptus  trees  to  the  blue  sea  beyond. 

"It's  a  gamble,  Bronson,"  he  said  at  last.  "I'd 
rather  give  the  cards  a  chance,  or  even  pitch  pennies 
to  decide,  but  we  two  have  done  nearly  everything 
except  get  married  for  each  other  in  the  last  twenty 
years,  and  I  am  game  to  try  it.  She  will  probably  balk, 
but  I  have  some  cousins  and  aunts  to  help  along,  and  it 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  51 

may  wake  up  another  woman  who  thinks  she  is  going 
to  keep  me  forever  in  a  trance.  My  Protestant,  puri 
tanical  women  relatives  may  not  suit  your  little  mission 
girl  much  better  than  I  would.  Her  teachers  have,  I 
suppose,  been  the  padre  and  your  housekeeper.'* 

"  You  will  find  a  creedless  mind,  a  virgin  field.  There 
has  been  so  much  of  jealousy.  Dona  Margarita's  chil 
dren  have  been  always  unquestioning,  devout.  They 
have  always  called  Monica  *  heretic'  because  her  par 
ents  were  of  another  creed,  and  it  has  borne  fruit.  She 
mocks  the  things  they  worship  and  makes  little  gods  of 
her  own  out  of  clay  like  the  Indians;  concocts  weird 
prayers  to  them,  and  altogether  creates  havoc  in  the 
house.  The  Mexicans  are  half  afraid  of  her,  yet  it  is 
only  reckless  daring,  the  protest  against  their  forms." 

"You  don't  try  to  draw  a  picture  attractive  to  a 


man." 


"Whatever  games  we've  shared  together  I  haven't 
ever  lied  to  you,  and  this  is  no  time  to  begin.  She  is  a 
stray  here,  a  rebel,  an  outsider.  Her  mother,  my 
sister,  was  perfection.  She  belonged  to  the  Puritan 
colonial  days  —  a  Protestant  saint  lifted  from  a  white 
altar.  So,  I  want  her  daughter  taken  out  of  the  life 
here.  I  had  planned  it  for  next  year  —  Europe  for  a 
while,  and  then  back  to  the  little  Georgia  plantation 
afterwards  —  after  Maria  was  married  here,  and  the 
divisions  of  the  land  made  —  all  that,  and  now — " 

His  voice  trailed  into  silence,  utter  weariness,  in 
rehearsing  the  one  failure  of  his  otherwise  materially 


52  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

successful  life.  His  lands  reached  from  the  mountains 
to  the  sea,  and  a  regiment  of  retainers,  Mexican  and 
Indian,  fed  daily  from  his  stores,  yet  the  weight  of 
care  for  one  little  woman  child  suddenly  made  all  his* 
life  seem  a  failure. 

"  I  will  make  it  all  right,  Bronson,"  said  his  visitor 
at  last;  "no  need  to  fret  over  that.  My  family  cut  a 
rather  wide  swath  in  their  own  territory,  so  she  is  sure 
of  family  and  position,  even  though  I  am  not  regarded 
as  a  shining  light.  As  to  money,  you  have  lent  me 
enough  to  know  I  am  not  weighted  by  wealth,  yet 
there  are  those  Nevada  mining  shares  bound  to  make 
good  —  in  time.  The  niece  of  Don  Lee  Bronson  and 
the  granddaughter  of  Colonel  Sturtevante  should  make 
a  better  match  than  this,  but  I  '11  take  care  of  her  till 
she  gets  tired,  and  the  future  can  look  after  itself." 

Lee  Bronson  reached  out  his  hand  and  settled  back 
on  the  pillow  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Go,  Juanito,"  he  said  to  the  Indian  boy  wielding 
the  great  feather  fan,  "  find  La  Querida,  and  the  padre, 
and — "  He  lay  with  closed  eyes,  smiling.  He  had 
ordered  all  things  to  his  own  content.  All  his  life  he 
had  dominated,  and  it  could  not  occur  to  him  that  his 
choice  was  not  the  best,  or  that  the  child  who  made 
her  own  gods  of  clay  might  turn  rebel  against  his 
decree. 

uLet  me  go  and  find  her,"  suggested  Wayne.  "It 
might  make  it  easier  than  to  break  it  to  her  through 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  53 

the  padre.  I  think  I  will  know  her  from  the  rest, 
though  you  certainly  have  a  varied  collection  here." 

He  spoke  truly,  for  the  various  branches  of  Dona 
Margarita's  family  were  all  represented.  They  were 
really  gathered  in  courtesy  and  kindliness  to  show 
respect  to  Don  Lee;  and  the  lower  rooms  and  the  patio 
were  filled  by  black-garbed  women,  toddling  children, 
and  men  who  rolled  cigarettes  and  talked  of  the  herds, 
the  crops,  or  the  memories  of  Bronson's  lusty  youth, 
when  he  had  come  among  them  a  stranger  as  a  young 
god  from  the  north,  and  in  a  day  was  as  one  with 
them,  and  ever  had  been. 

Several  of  the  men  greeted  Wayne,  the  Americano, 
courteously  as  the  well-remembered  friend  of  Don  Lee, 
and  he  went  on  through  the  groups  with  the  conscious 
ness  that  they  had  always  greeted  him  thus  —  as  an 
Americano  —  while  Bronson,  as  American  as  himself, 
had,  from  the  first,  been  a  compadre  instead  of  an 
outsider. 

It  gave  him  momentarily  the  point  of  view  cf  Bron 
son,  who  could  not  die  and  leave  his  sister's  child  an 
alien  among  his  own  children.  Among  all  the  group 
there  he  could  think  of  only  one  who  would  possibly 
remain  faithfully  devoted  to  her,  and  that  was  Dona 
Carmel,  who  had  lived  many  love  years  as  first  favorite 
of  the  dying  man  —  the  gentle,  devoted  Carmelita  — 
with  her  many  prayers,  her  ever  burning  candles,  and 
her  lack  of  any  hope  of  recompense  save  the  right  of 
love  to  serve. 


54  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

He  wondered  how  he  could  make  clear  to  his  New 
England  aunts  that  Dona  Carmelita  was  really  a  very 
good  woman,  and  infinitely  the  superior  of  Dona  Mar 
garita,  a  passionate,  purse-proud  creature,  with  a 
vanity  based  entirely  on  worldly  possessions  and  the 
mastery  over  a  little  army  of  Mexican  and  Indian 
retainers. 

He  was  thinking  of  these  things  as  he  followed 
Juanito  along  the  irrigation  ditch  to  the  deeper 
shadows  of  the  fragrant  eucalyptus  grove. 

"  Are  you  taking  me  to  the  Indian  homes  in  the  wil 
lows  ?  "  he  asked,  and  the  boy  flashed  a  smile,  but  shook 
his  head. 

"Some  days  she  does  go  there  —  to  learn  their 
witchcraft,  it  is  said  —  but  not  this  day.  The  Don  Lee 
sleeps  that  she  cannot  make  talk  with  him,  and  old 
Diego  Miguel  has  brought  new  clay  from  the  hills  for 
ollas,  and  La  Querida  learns  —  Chris  to!  she  learns  all 
so  in  a  hurry  —  so  she  hides  from  the  women." 

She  evidently  was  really  hiding  from  them,  for  she 
had  made  a  wattled  screen  towards  the  house,  and  was 
kneeling  beside  a  water  jar  fashioned  of  coils  of  clay, 
and  smoothed  inside  and  out  by  a  primitive  knife  —  a 
mere  slab  of  flattened  stone  —  and  accepted  meekly  the 
critical  grunts  of  a  withered  old  Indian,  who  was 
engaged  upon  another  and  a  larger  vessel. 

She  flushed  as  her  visitor  approached,  and  glanced 
at  her  skirt  soiled  by  the  clay  and  water,  and  at  her 
hands,  which  she  could  not  offer  in  greeting. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  55 

"  But  you  are  welcome,  Don  Glyn,"  she  said,  "  even 
though  this  mule,  this  most  stupid  bronco  (meaning 
Juanito),  should  be  lashed  for  not  making  me  a  sign 
from  the  window!  You  see  the  window  of  my  uncle 
from  here,  and  I  left  this  rabbit  with  a  feather  fan  and 
towel  to  wave  from  the  window  if  I  am  wanted,  or  if 
my  uncle  awakes;  but  he  is  such  a  spy  to  want  to  see 
that  he  does  not  signal  but  comes.  Never  again  will  I 
trust  you  —  toad!  " 

Juanito,  at  a  safe  distance  behind  the  big,  strong 
American,  only  blinked  at  this  outburst  —  words  fall 
lightly  in  comparison  with  other  weapons,  and  it  was 
his  lucky  day,  because  her  hands  were  too  slippery 
to  hold  him  —  and  she  had  no  quirt. 

Wayne  surveyed  her  with  considerable  surprise.  As 
she  stood  up  she  was  taller  than  the  old  Indian  beside 
her;  in  the  year  since  he  had  seen  her  she  had  shot  up 
like  the  reeds  by  the  river  in  the  early  summer.  This 
reed  had  little  form  —  only  great  gray  eyes  under  dark 
brows  —  a  thin,  almost  hungry  face,  and  two  braids  of 
hair  hanging  long  and  rope-like  over  her  shoulders; 
hair  of  brown  with  reddish  glints  in  it.  Her  skin  was 
very  white  and  absolutely  without  color;  only  the  full 
mutinous  lips  were  so  red  that  Wayne  thought  he  had 
never  seen  teeth  look  so  white  by  contrast.  All  the 
life  in  her  face  was  in  the  lips  and  the  gray  eyes,  in 
which  there  were  golden  lights  —  or  were  they  green? 
The  impression  was  of  a  still  white  mask  through  which 
a  soul  peered  out,  yet  hid  itself.  It  was  not  the  face  of 


5  6  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  pretty  child  he  had  sauntered  out  to  find  —  she  was 
not  pretty — yet  she  was  something  more.  In  that 
first  glance  he  had  seen  why  poor  Bronson  was  weighed 
down  with  the  responsibility  of  this  young  rebel,  as  he 
called  her.  She  was  so  much  an  outsider  that  she  had 
not  even  acquired  the  suave  manner  of  her  olive-skinned 
cousins,  neither  had  she  the  girlish  note  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  maid.  She  was  a  silver  pheasant  astray  among 
the  brown  fowl  of  the  barnyard;  yet,  even  while  the 
thought  of  the  silver  pheasant  came  to  him,  the  tilted 
head  suggested  a  young  hawk. 

"Are  you  in  a  rage  with  my  guide  because  he  helped 
me  find  you?"  asked  Wayne,  amused  and  baffled  by 
her  attitude  and  her  alert,  blunt  decision.  He  slipped 
a  silver  coin  to  Juanito,  who  with  hasty  thanks  ran 
back  in  glee  to  show  it  to  the  less  lucky  lads  at  the 
corral. 

u  He  knows  why  I  am  in  anger  with  him,"  she  said 
with  a  shrug  of  disdain  at  that  gift  of  silver.  "  For 
three  days  he  fears  to  come  near  me  alone,  lest  I  get 
my  hands  on  him  where  no  one  can  save  him.  My 
uncle  does  not  know  why  all  at  once  good  little  Juanito 
is  so  devoted;  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  tell  women: 
women  are  fools !  They  would  ask  the  padre  to  give 
him  a  penance,  and  the  padre  would  make  him  say 
some  '  Our  Fathers  *  and  *  Ave  Marias '  !  A  quirt  is  a 
better  prayer  for  Juanito." 

Her  visitor  looked  after  the  flying  figure  of  the  boy. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  57 

"You  certainly  have  him  filled  with  respect  for  your 
sort  of  religion,"  he  observed. 

She  nodded  curtly. 

"None  of  them  dare  to  touch  me  alone,"  and  there 
was  a  grim-twisted  smile  on  the  red  mouth  as  she 
quietly  motioned  for  him  to  be  seated,  while  she  con 
tinued  her  work  of  coiling  the  wet  clay  around  the 
walls  of  the  jar,  "but  three  days  ago  that  toad  told 
Manuel  Morro  that  I  was  riding  up  the  canon  alone 
to  see  old  Diego  Miguel,"  and  she  nodded  towards 
her  aged  companion.  "  Manuel  had  sworn  as  long 
ago  as  Easter  that  he  will  kiss  me,  and  some  day  marry 
me  —  pah!  So  he  hid  in  the  willows,  and  also  Carlos 
Galvez,  who  is  to  marry  my  cousin  Maria.  I  have  told 
no  one  except  old  Diego  Miguel  —  but  the  two  boys 
got  their  kisses!  Manuel  has  a  bad  hand,  which  he 
says  was  burned  by  a  reata  when  he  was  roping  a 
bronco ;  it  is  tied  up  and  no  one  sees  it,  and  poor  Carlos 
has  his  pretty  cheek  cut  from  a  fall  when  the  foot  of 
his  horse  went  into  a  sink-hole  by  the  acquia  and  gave 
him  a  bad  fall  on  a  stone.  It  was  a  very  sharp,  clean 
stone  and  will  leave  only  a  thin  scar,"  and  she  slipped 
from  under  her  blouse  a  slender  dagger  and  held  it 
lightly  on  her  open  palm  for  him  to  see. 

"Good  God!" 

"  Dear  Carlos  does  not  come  near  me  so  often  now," 
she  continued.  "  Maria  takes  care  of  his  cheek  and 
kisses  it  well.  But  he  has  told  Maria  that  I  have  witch 


58  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

power,  and  that  she  must  not  danger  her  soul  by  sleep 
ing  in  the  same  bed,  so  I  have  a  whole  bed  to  myself 
now.  Last  night  I  found  a  cross  in  it  made  of  palm, 
and  thrust  full  of  cactus  needles.  That  is  because  I  am 
heretic." 

" Good  God!" 

Wayne  stared  at  her  in  a  sort  of  fascinated  horror; 
not  so  much  at  the  facts  related,  as  at  her  unchildlike 
mental  attitude  towards  the  weird  situation.  She 
accepted  it  as  a  usual  and  natural  condition  of  affairs 
in  which  she  owed  it  to  herself  to  be  the  victor  at  every 
turn. 

"  But  have  you  told  no  one,  the  older  people,  the 
padre?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Maria  would  lie  for  dear  Carlos  and  prove  he  was 
with  her  when  he  fell,  and  Manuel  is  so  handsome,  and 
has  a  good  ranch,  and  all  the  girls  are  so  crazy  about 
him  that  he  would  find  it  easy  to  prove  anything.  No, 
words  are  no  use,  and  they  know  my  uncle  will  never 
walk  again,  or  call  any  of  them  to  account.  Dona 
Carmelita  is  my  one  friend,  and  the  family  all  say  she 
shall  not  stay  under  the  roof  when  my  uncle  dies.  He 
gave  her  a  little  orange  orchard  and  a  house  on  it, 
and  they  all  are  jealous  of  that.  If  he  dies  I  will  go 
there  and  live  with  her." 

He  saw  that  she  had  reckoned  on  all  the  changes  to 
come,  and  was  expecting  to  meet  and  conquer  them  as 
she  had  the  men  who  waited  for  kisses  in  the  willows. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  59 

"  You  have  forgotten,  Monica,  that  you  have  rights, 
and  that  a  girl  must  allow  herself  to  be  protected  by 
the  laws.  There  are  friends  of  Don  Lee  who — " 

"Law!"  and  she  made  a  little  clicking  sound  with 
her  tongue.  "  Don  Glyn,  do  you  not  know  there  is  no 
law  in  San  Juan  on  a  dark  night?" 

"Why  — I—" 

"You  belong  back  in  a  land  where  men  who  kill 
each  other  are  hanged;  but  who  ever  heard  of  any  one 
being  hanged  for  any  of  the  many  dead  men  picked  up 
on  the  one  little  street  of  this  pueblo?  Law!  There 
are  laws  perhaps,  but  I  have  seen  men  roped  and  tied 
to  trees  on  election  day  and  only  let  go  after  votes 
were  decided.  They  tore  down  the  American  flag 
and  pulled  it  to  ribbons  during  the  Spanish  war,  and 
what  did  the  law  do?  You  know  the  law  is  only  used 
here  to  protect  money  or  property  of  some  sort.  I 
ought  to  know.  My  uncle  has  been  at  the  head  of 
the  politicians.  Since  I  was  a  baby  I  have  sat  on  the 
knees  of  his  friends  while  they  smoked  and  gamed  and 
talked  over  the  prices  of  men.  I  could  tell  you  this 
minute  where  you  could  hire  a  man  to  knife  any  one 
who  was  a  trouble  to  you,  and  how  much  it  would 
cost  you ;  or  if  you  are  interested  in  smuggling  China 
men  into  the  States  I  can  tell  you  the  right  man  to 
meet  them  at  the  Mexican  border.  Six  of  them  went 
past  our  home  last  week,  half  smothered  under  a  load 
of  hay.  The  hay  was  sold  in  Santa  Ana ;  that  man  who 
sold  it  is  a  relation  of  my  cousins.  Maria  says  it  is 


60  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

witchcraft  because  I  know  all  these  things,  and  that  no 
man  will  ever  be  found  bold  enough  to  marry  me;  but 
only  my  ears  and  my  eyes  have  helped  me,  not  the 
witches." 

"You  have  forgotten  to  take  into  account  the  brain 
back  of  the  ears  and  eyes/'  he  observed. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  came  today,"  she  said,  with  a  quick, 
grateful  smile.  Her  changes  of  expression  were  April- 
like  in  their  sun  flashes  under  the  clouds.  "  I  have  been 
like  the  smoking  mountain  above  the  hot  springs  for 
so  long  that  I  had  to  talk,  or  an  earthquake  might 
have  happened!  I  do  talk  to  Diego  Miguel,  but  he 
only  says,  '  Pray  to  God,  little  darling/  and  that  makes 
me  want  to  scream.  I  am  not  a  *  little  darling/  and 
when  I  do  get  down  on  my  knees  to  please  Dona  Car- 
mel,  I  don't  know  what  to  pray  for.  Dona  Carmel  has 
prayed  all  her  life,  and  what  great  things  have  the 
saints  done  for  her?" 

Wayne  laughed,  but  shook  his  head  over  her  rebel 
lious  explosions  —  they  were  so  unlike  what  one  would 
expect  from  her  colorless  face.  Her  reference  to  the 
sleeping  volcano  within  sight  above  the  orange  trees 
struck  him  as  being  very  apt.  That  mountain  had  slept 
for  a  generation,  and  only  a  thin  thread  of  smoke  told 
at  times  that  the  heart  of  it  was  still  beating,  though 
smouldering  unseen. 

"What  you  need  is  women,  real  women,  around 
you.  What  would  you  think  of  a  convent?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  6 1 

"What  would  they  think  of  me,"  she  retorted,  "if 
I  told  them  I  carried  a  dagger  rather  than  say  prayers? 
They  would  say  just  about  what  Maria  and  Dolores 
say.  No,  I  like  men  best;  Diego  Miguel  is  a  better 
comrade  than  the  women.  He  teaches  me  to  work 
in  the  clay,  and  then  sells  the  ollas;  also  he  does  not 
say  it  is  witchcraft  when  I  try  to  make  horses  or  dogs 
or  people  out  of  clay.  You  have  seen  the  wooden 
statues  of  the  saints  in  the  mission?  Well,  some  day 
I  will  learn  enough  either  to  make  statues  too,  or  else 
paint  pictures  with  colors.  I  have  my  father's  draw 
ings,  and  have  made  copies  of  all  of  them.  I  have 
made  one  picture  already  of  Diego  Miguel,  but  no  one 
has  seen  it.  If  he  should  fall  sick,  or  die,  they  would 
all  say  the  picture  brought  the  ill  luck,  so  I  am  waiting." 

Wayne  whistled  softly  to  himself. 

u  What  patience !  But  at  least  we  have  found  one 
thing  you  can  pray  for;  it  would  really  make  you  more 
normal.  You  can  pray  to  be  an  artist  or  a  sculptor." 

"Would  to  pray  make  an  artist?  I  thought  it  was 
work,  and  years  of  work." 

"  You  are  too  old  for  me,  Monica !  I  don't  know 
how  you  have  crowded  so  much  into  your  fifteen  years 
—  or  is  it  sixteen?" 

"  I  Ve  lived  with  old  men,"  she  said,  simply.  "  The 
young  ones  have  no  sense." 

"And  you  are  quite,  quite  sure  you  will  never  want 
to  marry  the  handsome  Manuel  who  tries  to  steal 
you?" 


62  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

She  looked  at  him,  unsmiling,  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  I  will  shock  you  as  I  shocked  the  padre  if  I  tell 
you  what  I  would  like  to  do  to  that  handsome  Manuel 
who  sent  me  into  the  river  today,"  she  said;  "still,  I 
will  tell  you.  I  can't  talk  to  my  uncle,  but  I  could 
always  talk  to  you  —  you  are  not  too  good  —  it  is  the 
bad  in  me  I  always  tell  you  of.  You  know,  the  father 
of  Manuel  was  very  rich.  Manuel  was  sent  to  the 
schools  and  colleges.  He  was  to  be  the  great  man  of 
this  valley,  maybe  governor  some  day,  as  his  uncle 
was.  Thousands  of  dollars  were  used  to  teach  him  all 
a  fine  man  should  know.  Well,  in  the  olive  orchard 
back  of  the  corrals,  I  found  a  thing  horrible  —  a  coyote 
in  a  trap  with  chains  wrapped  around  it  and  hung  on 
a  tree  limb.  Under  it  a  fire  had  been  made  and  the 
coyote  had  been  burned  alive  there  because  it  had 
caught  a  chicken  on  the  ranch  when  it  was  hungry. 
The  handsome  Manuel  had  done  this  —  and  all  the 
colleges  and  all  the  teachers  and  all  his  regular  days 
at  the  chapel  services  have  not  civilized  him  more  than 
that!  Yet  he  would  steal  a  girl  if  he  could,  just  as 
the  coyote  stole  the  chicken.  And  I  —  I  tell  you  true 
—  I  would  like  to  be  the  god  of  the  coyote  long 
enough  to  chain  the  handsome  Manuel  to  that  same 
place  and  make  the  fire.1' 

;'You  awful  young  heathen!  And  you  told  the 
padre  that?" 

"Yes,  when  he  came  to  tell  me  how  well  it  would 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  63 

be  if  I  would  enter  holy  church,  and  marry  Manuel." 

Her  visitor  sighed  and  shook  his  head  as  he  stared 
at  her. 

"You  are  certainly  leaving  me  no  illusions  of  gentle 
maidenhood  to  build  on/'  he  said,  at  last.  "  I  see  now 
why  Don  Lee  calls  you  a  boy  and  a  rebel.  And  you 
think  you  want  to  be  an  artist?" 

She  nodded  silently. 

" Is  there  anything  else  you  want  very  much?" 

"Yes,  for  my  uncle  to  get  well,  and  for  we  two  to 
go  far  away  where  my  mother  lived.  The  women  here 
know  no  more  at  seventy  than  at  seventeen.  I  want 
to  know  things,  to  work,  to  do  things.  But  the  doctor 
has  said  he  could  not  live  long — so  —  we  never 
can  go." 

"  Monica,  would  you  go  with  me?" 

"Where?" 

"Out  into  the  world  you  want,  to  the  schools  you 


want." 


"How  could  that  be?"  Her  eyes  were  wide  and 
alight,  yet  wistful. 

"  It  is  true  you  do  not  yet  know  what  you  want 
to  pray  for.  When  I  say  I  will  open  the  door  for 
you,  you  almost  look  as  if  you  are  afraid  to  go  out  of 
your  cage." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  am  afraid,"  she  said.  "All  at  once 
I  felt  so  —  it  was  foolish.  How  could  you  open  the 
door?" 

"There  are  two  ways,"  he  said,  slowly.    " Don  Lee 


64  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

has  talked  of  one  of  them.  He  wants  me  to  take  care 
of  you  when  he  is  gone." 

She  was  no  longer  moulding  the  olla,  but  seated 
beside  the  irrigation  ditch  let  her  hands  trail  idly  in 
the  clear  water. 

"I  would  rather  it  was  you,"  she  said.  "  I  thought 
it  would  be  the  padre,  and  the  troubles  of  the  padre 
would  be  many.  He  is  against  all  the  things  I  want 
to  do,  and  that  would  be  bad.  But  you  have  no  home, 
no  wife,  no  children.  Where  would  you  take  me?" 

He  noted  there  was  neither  protest  nor  eagerness  — 
a  sort  of  still  acceptance  of  the  situation.  All  alone 
she  had  no  doubt  imagined  many  worse  things  than 
to  go  away  into  the  unknown  with  this  man  who  had 
brought  her  dolls  and  candies  in  other  days. 

"No,"  he  said,  affirming  her  statement  as  to  his 
lack  of  household.  "  I  have  only  some  girl  cousins  and 
some  aunts.  When  you  go  with  me  we  can  arrange  a 
school  perhaps  until  we  see  further  through  the  open 
door.  Don  Lee  thought  if  you  would  marry  me  some 
day  it  would  be  well,  but  since  listening  to  your  ideas 
of  marriage  with  your  more  attractive  young  lover 
here,  I  can't  hope  much.  But  it  is  for  you  to  say  — 
you  must  decide." 

"To  marry  you,  really!"  and  her  eyes  widened 
again.  "  Maria  and  all  the  girls  say  no  man  would 
marry  me  but  Manuel,  and  that  he  is  bewitched.  How 
furious  Maria  would  be !  " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  65 

Wayne  rolled  a  cigarette  and  watched  her.  She 
was  refreshing  in  her  utter  elimination  of  himself. 

"  Yes,  Maria  would  probably  not  like  to  be  a  false 
prophetess,  or  to  have  the  Cinderella  marry  as  well 
as  the  Beauty,  for  Maria  has  always  been  looked  upon 
as  the  beauty;  but,  putting  Maria  out  of  the  question, 
what  would  you  say?" 

"I  never  liked  married  folks  as  well  as  separate 
people,"  she  observed.  "I  would  like  to  be  your 
wife,  yet  I  would  like  to  live  like  what  uncle  calls  me, 
a  boy,  or  a  comrade.  I  can't  say  it  very  well,  maybe. 
I  want  to  work,  to  study,  to  be  the  things  they  say 
I  can't  be  —  and — and  you  might  not  want  that  sort 
of  wife." 

"Yet  you'd  rather  be  my  wife  than  be  an  adopted 
daughter?" 

"You  see,  I  could  not  be  either  really"  she  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  It  would  always  be  like  playing  *  pre 
tend  '  as  I  used  to  play  '  mother J  when  you  brought  me 
a  doll.  I  guess  that's  the  best  way  I  can  say  it.  I 
want  just  to  be  comrade;  but  I  will  marry  you  to  go 
away,  and  be  free." 

"  All  right,  it 's  a  bargain.  I  guess  it  will  be  a  good 
deal  for  me  in  the  life  game.  We  will  join  hands  for 
mutual  protection  against  the  Manuels  and  other  hand 
some  creatures.  Yet  we  will  be  free  chums  to  follow 
our  own  trails.  You  will  develop  into  an  artistic 
genius,  and  I  will  feel  puffed  up  with  pride  because  I 
could  open  the  door  for  you !  " 


66  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

She  smiled  at  his  extravagant  picture,  it  helped 
bridge  over  a  brief  period  of  embarrassment.  To  say 
that  she  wanted  him  to  marry  her,  yet  did  not  want 
to  be  his  wife  —  not  to  be  a  wife  to  any  one,  ever  — 
was  a  difficult  thing  to  make  clear.  What  she  had 
observed  of  mated  couples  during  her  brief  life  had  not 
tended  to  cultivate  domestic  instincts. 

"  Diego  Miguel  has  been  more  to  me  than  the  white 
people,"  she  said,  as  she  covered  the  olla  with  a  wet 
cloth  before  leaving  the  old  man  at  his  work  alone. 
"May  I  tell  him?" 

The  old  Indian  had  only  caught  the  names  in  their 
conversation,  as  he  spoke  no  English,  and  had  politely 
effaced  himself  during  their  long  and  strange  talk; 
but  now,  when  the  girl  gravely  spoke  to  him  in  Span 
ish,  he  stared  in  amazement  at  Wayne,  scrambled  to 
his  feet  to  make  his  best  bow,  then  lifted  his  brown 
hands  over  the  girl  in  blessing,  while  the  tears  ran 
down  his  furrowed  cheeks. 

She  wiped  them  away,  and  interpreted  his  broken 
sentences. 

"He  has  been  terribly  afraid  for  me  here,  and 
knows  he  is  too  old  to  help,"  she  said,  "  and  now  he 
asks  me  to  say  he  will  trust  you,  and  will  never  be 
afraid  any  more! " 

"Oh,  say,  I  was  not  expecting  this  sort  of  thing; 
tell  him  not  to  worry  like  that." 

"  But  he  is  weeping  because  he  is  happy  —  can't  you 
see?  He  thinks  you  and  I  should  weep  with  him. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  67 

Also  he  wants  to  know  when  the  wedding  will  be." 
"That's  a  neglected  fact.     If  we  marry  we  will 
certainly  be  obliged  to  have  a  wedding.    You  say  when 
—  or  shall  we  ask  Don  Lee?" 

"  You  can  ask  him,  and  I  will  get  my  mother's  wed 
ding  dress.  Uncle  Lee  will  say  whatever  I  say,  and  I 
won't  have  the  padre !  The  alcalde  can  marry  people, 
and  at  once  I  will  show  Maria  that  some  one  will 
marry  me  without  witchcraft!  " 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that  myself,"  said  Wayne, 
half  laughing,  half  nettled  that  the  thought  of  the 
jealousy  of  Maria  was  doing  quite  a  good  deal  towards 
hastening  his  nuptials.  "You  have  told  me  all  the 
unattractive  things  possible  of  yourself  and  wind  up 
by  telling  me  I  can  arrange  for  the  wedding  'pronto ' — 
if  that  is  not  witchcraft  it  is  close  kindred  to  it ! " 


CHAPTER  III 

moons,  and  even  the  years,  slipped  into  the 
past  so  quickly  in  the  busy  life  of  McLane  Sar 
gent,  that  he  woke  up  one  day  to  discover  the  fact  that 
his  excellent  work  had  won  him  the  approval  of  the 
discriminating  reader,  but  that  his  hold  on  the  heart 
of  the  people,  the  responsive,  impulsive  heart,  had 
never  been  complete  until  in  an  hour  of  fortune  he  came 
across  his  notes  of  the  little  journey  along  the  old 
Mexican  coast,  and  to  help  out  an  editorial  friend 
hammered  it  into  form  for  a  rush  order. 

Something  had  gone  wrong,  a  novelette  intended  for 
a  first  place  had  developed  something  hazy  as  to 
authorship  —  was  a  "borrowed"  translation  instead  of 
an  original  —  altogether  there  was  trouble  in  the  air, 
and  a  substitute  needed,  and  needed,  as  his  friend  the 
editor  stated,  in  a  little  less  than  no  time. 

And  these  were  the  conditions  under  which  Sar 
gent  finally  developed  the  story  he  had  said  he  would 
write  some  day  of  his  woman  under  the  mission  arches. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  developed  it  at  all,"  he  stated 
afterwards.  "The  thing  sort  of  wrote  itself." 

Time  was  not  given  him  in  which  to  think;  he  only 
recorded  pictures  unconsciously  preserved,  impressions 
absorbed  and  long  forgotten,  tones  and  intonations 

68 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  69 

alluring  in  the  soft  Spanish.  The  woman  of  the  lilies 
became  the  incarnate  spirit  of  tragedy  —  all  the  more 
so  that  she  put  forth  no  voluntary  call  for  help  of  the 
world. 

And  for  the  man,  her  master,  the  objective  mind  of 
Sargent  had  almost  forgotten  what  he  had  said  he 
would  like  to  do  to  that  unknown  demagogue  of  the 
mission  valley,  but  his  subjective  mind  remembered 
every  jot  and  tittle  of  it;  and  through  the  nights  of 
the  years  it  had  grown  in  the  silence  until  the  food  it 
gave  his  imagination  was  meat  for  men,  so  much  so 
that  his  friend  fairly  shouted  with  glee  as  the  pages 
slipped  through  his  fingers,  and  he  grasped  the  fact 
that  it  was  a  sledge-hammer  idea  Sargent  was  "  getting 
across,"  though  on  the  surface  it  appeared  only  the 
sorrowful  romance  of  one  soft-voiced  woman  of  great 
eyes  and  red  lips  and  a  shrine  in  a  little,  unknown 
valley. 

The  public  agreed  with  the  editor:  it  was  a  heart- 
gripping  love  of  which  he  had,  almost  unconsciously, 
written,  a  vital  thing — so  vital  that  men  looked  at  him 
curiously  and  wondered  where  he  got  all  that  insight  — 
and  that  woman  —  a  saint-like  devotee  from  whom 
more  fortunate  sisters  would  draw  aside  their  chaste 
skirts !  She  was  truly  of  the  half-light  of  life,  not  of 
the  deep  darkness  —  quite  —  but  never,  never  belong 
ing  to  the  world  of  sunshine ! 

He  had  made  her  royal  in  love,  enthroned  her,  the 
woman  of  shadows;  and  in  the  dust  below  her  the 


70  The  Woman  off  the  Twilight 

man  who  was  her  master  followed  the  lure  of  gold, 
of  worldly  power,  of  every  visible  token  needed  by  a 
strong  animal  to  prove  to  itself  that  it  is  supreme,  and 
does  dominate. 

And  in  the  end  —  what? 

The  biggest  thing  his  life  had  touched  was  a  love 
so  great  that  it  had  remained  ever  beyond  and  above 
his  own  comprehension.  She  was  his  as  some  captive 
queen  might  have  been  the  slave  of  some  victorious 
Goth,  yet  the  Goth  would  become  a  god  if  seen  through 
Love's  eyes,  and  the  chains  of  the  woman  of  the  twi 
light  were  forged  thus  —  of  the  only  gold  which  en 
dures  and  creates  though  the  fires  of  suns  darken,  and 
the  planets  live  their  lives  and  die,  and  every  material 
husk  of  the  world's  greatness  crumbles  and  becomes 
dust  for  the  growth  of  new  things.  And  above  and 
beyond  all,  the  spirit  of  Love  brooded  untouched  by 
the  world's  standards,  and  in  the  form  of  this  one 
woman  knelt  ever  before  a  symbol  of  the  Spirit. 

Despite  his  statement  that  the  thing  wrote  itself — 
this  was  the  result  of  an  hour  or  two  under  the  arches 
of  the  old  California  mission  —  it  had  brought  him  a 
sort  of  fame  surprising  to  himself  —  and  the  letters! 

He  had  never  dreamed  there  were  so  many  women, 
and  men,  too,  for  whom  the  confessional  was  an  actual 
need,  at  least  once  in  their  lives  —  if  quite  certain  the 
confessor  would  never  guess  identities. 

And  there  were  others ! 

And  out  of  it  grew  that  tender,  shadowed  title  for 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  71 

the  sister  woman  who  loves  —  not  too  well,  who  could? 
but  in  a  way  not  worldly  wise.  It  had  become  an  addi 
tion  to  their  vocabulary  until  his  fiancee,  Elinor  Mit- 
ford,  added  to  every  written  note  to  him,  "Any  new 
Woman  of  the  Twilight  on  your  trail  ?" 

He  was  not  sure  that  he  liked  it  any  more  than  he 
liked  Oilman's  query  as  to  whether  he  was  going  to 
blossom  out  a  bally  preacher  and  then  strike  for  a 
political  job  when  his  following  was  secure.  Other 
queries  of  the  same  sort  came  his  way  until  fame  did 
not  seem  an  unalloyed  blessing;  yet  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  voice  an  actual  discontent. 

Independent,  with  good  health,  youth,  a  name  al 
ready  made  in  books,  a  charming  girl  who  was  to  marry 
him  some  day  —  if  she  did  not  change  her  mind  —  and 
all  the  world  yet  to  range  in,  his  outlook  on  life  should 
have  all  the  rosy  hues  of  earthly  hope. 

Yet  he  had  done  no  work  for  weeks,  and  was  an 
aimless,  restless  wanderer  when  the  powers  that  be, 
aided  by  Nell,  guided  his  steps  towards  the  cottage  of 
her  aunt,  Mrs.  J.  Hamilton  Dacy,  at  Dacy's  harbor, 
on  the  Massachusetts  coast. 

"You  see,  Lane,"  said  that  practical  young  lady, 
"  I  am  in  for  trouble  ever  since  I  quit  playing  with 
Tony  Allen;  and  now  that  a  new  engagement  is  an 
nounced,  you  might  as  well  brace  up  and  help  me  face 
the  music.  They  are  all  terribly  proud  of  you  and  your 
success,  and  they  make  it  clear  that  I  shall  have  to  do 
some  mental  hustling  to  keep  up  to  your  standards; 


72  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

but  just  the  same  we  will  have  to  adjust  ourselves  to  a 
family  meeting  sooner  or  later,  and  I  'd  rather  have 


it  over." 


"What  do  they  —  the  family  council  —  usually  do 
to  your  latest  selections?"  asked  Sargent,  lazily. 
"Your  Aunt  Dacy  seemed  satisfied.  I  think,  I  really 
think,  Nell,  that  she  made  the  engagement." 

"She  did  not!  Lane,  you  know  she  did  not.  I 
always  liked  you  tremendously,  so,  when  Anthony  Al 
len  quarreled  with  me  —  about  nothing  (for  I  never 
did  care  for  Tom  Guyon)  — and  your  unknown  illus 
trator  found  herself  a  husband  —  well,  I  think  it  was 
just  Fate,  Lane  Sargent." 

"  I  'm  willing  to  think  it,  Nellie,"  he  agreed,  stroking 
her  white,  ringed  hand,  "but,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't 
drag  in  the  woman  question.  No  woman  had  anything 
to  do  with  it  but  you." 

"That's  nice,  and  I  guess  you  believe  it,  Lane,"  she 
said,  with  a  quaint  grimace;  "but  /  never  drove  you 
to  drink  because  I  wouldn't  write  you.  We  both  have 
let  each  other's  letters  go  unanswered  for  ages  and 
lost  no  sleep  over  it,  and  if  I  had  married  Tony 
Allen—" 

"But  you  didn't,  Nell.  You  quarreled  with  him 
like  the  little  tyrant  you  are,  and  then  came  and  wept 
on  my  shoulder." 

"  It 's  a  nice  shoulder,  and  you  are  such  a  comfort, 
Lane,"  said  his  fiancee.  "You  know,  I  did  fairly 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  73 

wrestle  with  my  conscience  over  Tony  —  tried  Theoso- 
phy,  New  Thought,  and  Christian  Science  to  recon 
cile  myself  to  the  idea  that  nothing  in  this  life  really 
did  count  for  much,  and  I  might  as  well  give  up  earthly 
hope  and  be  an  old  maid;  but  it  was  all  no  use,  habit 
was  too  strong  for  me.  And  you  know,  Lane,"  she 
added,  after  a  season  of  pensive  thought,  "no  matter 
what  any  of  the  highbrows  try  to  tell  a  girl,  there  is 
no  religion  quite  so  comforting  as  the  right  man." 

McLane  Sargent  shouted  with  laughter,  and  rolled 
on  the  grass  above  the  little  strip  of  shore,  then  sat  up 
and  flipped  pebbles  at  the  girl,  and  his  gray  eyes  twin 
kled  at  the  thought  of  her  wrestling  with  a  conscience. 

"If  I'm  a  comfort,  you  are  a  joy,  Nell,"  he  de 
cided,  "so  I  guess  it  won't  trouble  us  much  what  the 
relatives  say.  Of  course,  I  haven't  Allen's  money — " 

"  But  you  can  make  some  of  your  own,"  she  inter 
rupted.  "And,  speaking  of  money,  Lane,  did  your 
unknown  woman  ever  accept  the  money  for  those  illus 
trations  of  your  *  Woman  of  the  Twilight '  ?  " 

The  color  flushed  into  Sargent's  face,  and  he  sent 
the  pebbles  skimming  over  the  water  instead  of  towards 
the  girl. 

"Can't  you  let  that  rest,  Nell?  I've  been  having 
hades  with  the  publisher  over  it.  They  wanted  to 
make  advertising  material  out  of  the  fact  that  the 
artist  was  an  unknown,  that  she  is  a  rare  genius,  that 
she  submitted  the  pictures  because  of  some  sentimen- 


74  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

tal  or  tragic  interest  for  her  in  the  story;  oh,  there  was 
no  end  to  the  use  they  could  make  of  the  theme  if  they 
could  only  surround  it  with  mystery." 

"Well,  why  not?  All  they  would  have  to  do  is  to 
tell  the  truth.  None  of  you  do  know  who  the  artist  is. 
Didn't  you  try  to  follow  up  the  only  address  given 
and  —  land  in  a  negro  section  of  town !  Say,  Lane,  did 
you  ever  tell  the  publishers  that?"  and  she  giggled, 
—  "talk  about  a  shadowy  mystery,  did  you?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  and  I  would  not  have  told  you  if  I 
had  been  sober." 

Instead  of  resenting  his  bluntness,  the  girl  laughed 
and  held  up  her  finger  accusingly. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  she  drove  you  to  a  desperate 
state?  Honest,  Lane,  how  does  it  seem  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  girl  you  never  saw  —  a  dream  girl?" 

"  I  think  the  visible  ones  are  safer,"  and  he  reached 
for  her  hand  and  missed  it  as  she  drew  back;  "but 
please  remember  you  are  the  only  person  who  ever 
mentioned  that  tender  passion  in  connection  with  the 
dream  girl.  /  certainly  never  did." 

"You  did  not  have  to,"  retorted  Miss  Mitford.  "  I 
have  known  you  too  long  to  be  wrong.  You  fairly 
radiated  affection  for  all  the  world — you  were  even 
affectionate  to  me !  The  days  when  her  letters  came 
were  days  of  joy — in  regard  to  art,  of  course  —  and 
when  the  last  letter  came  you  went  —  slump  —  into  the 
depths." 

"  Nell,  can't  you  let  the  post  mortems  alone  ?  "  asked 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  75 

the  man,  irritably.  "  I  am  not  in  the  depths  now;  and 
you  know,  little  girl,  I  have  never  dug  up  your  former 
engagements,  or  questioned  you  of  Allen." 

"No  need,  you  knew  all  about  it  —  always.  Why, 
you  just  couldn't  stir  up  a  mystery  concerning  any 
one  like  Tony  Allen.  But  a  wonderful  woman  who 
paints  your  dreams,  and  even  talks  to  you  on  paper, 
and  hides  behind  a  brush  name  or  a  Chinese  symbol, 
and  then  —  Lane,  really  and  truly,  didn't  you  end  by 
writing  her  love  letters?" 

"  Really  and  truly,  would  I  tell  you  if  I  had?" 
"Well,  you  did  something  definite  and  desperate  to 
scare  her  into  retreat,  and  you  won't  even  tell  me  her 


name." 


"  I  tell  you  I  never  knew  it.  The  illustrations  were 
signed  by  a  symbol  instead  of  a  name.  The  letter  with 
them  gave  a  name  avowedly  assumed,  and  an  address 
where  no  white  people  lived.  That  is  all  I  know.  She 
is  not  in  the  field  for  other  illustrative  work,  and  all 
one  meets  if  he  tries  to  search  her  out  is  a  very  blank 
wall." 

"I  notice  you  don't  tell  me  whether  she  kept  or 
returned  the  money  you  sent  for  the  drawings." 

Again  Sargent's  face  flushed,  and  for  a  moment  his 
eyes  looked  hard. 

"  She  kept  it,"  he  stated,  in  the  brief,  clipped  man 
ner  Nell  had  learned  marked  the  limit  of  his  patience; 
"she  closed  the  episode  with  that  very  business-like 
act.  The  whole  thing  is  dead  and  buried  except  for 


76  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  fact  that  my  new  book  has  a  set  of  illustrations 
remarkable  for  their  truth,  also  their  beauty.  She 
painted  the  things  I  only  thought  and  did  not  even 
fully  describe.  I  feel  like  a  cad  to  think  I  even  spoke 
of  it  to  any  one  —  even  you." 

"You  wouldn't  if  you  had  suspected  how  it  would 
end,1'  said  Nell,  consolingly,  slipping  her  hand  through 
his  arm,  "but  of  course  you  couldn't  know." 

"No,  I  couldn't  know,"  he  agreed.  "Shall  we  go 
back  to  the  house?  I  see  Oilman's  auto,  and  your  aunt 
on  the  terrace." 

"Yes,  she  is  looking  this  way.  Aunt  Martha  is 
happy  because  she  thinks  we  are  out  here  spooning. 
You  know,  she  still  has  her  doubts  as  to  whether  I  have 
given  our  engagement  the  proper  amount  of  prayer 
ful  consideration." 

"  Strange !  "  and  Sargent  smiled  down  in  her  eyes  — 
blue,  quick,  darting  eyes,  roguish  and  alert.  She  smiled 
back  at  him  in  frank  comradeship,  and  a  certain  pride 
in  his  possession.  It  was  nice  to  have  the  celebrity  of 
the  season  for  one's  very  own ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

the  terrace  there  were  more  than  Gilman  and 
their  hostess,  Mrs.  Dacy.  George  Hallet,  the 
law  partner  of  Hamilton  Dacy,  was  there,  a  fine,  clean- 
cut  man,  blonde,  frank,  and  very  much  at  home.  He 
was  bantering  Gilman  about  an  inheritance  suit  they 
were  managing  for  that  lucky  individual.  Gilman  had 
been  left  quite  a  little  money  by  one  distant  relative, 
and  stood  a  good  chance  to  win  an  old  and  very  large 
plantation  in  the  South  from  the  estate  of  a  grand- 
uncle  of  whom  he  had  known  next  to  nothing  until 
recently. 

"  Yet  he  says  life  is  commonplace,  and  that  romance 
has  died  out  of  the  land,"  said  Nell,  shaking  hands  with 
Hallet.  "/  call  that  flinging  slander  in  the  face  of 
Lane's  new  book.  I  am  sure  that  is  romance,  poetry, 
and  tragedy,  all  three." 

"  Yes,"  retorted  Gilman,  "  but  I  had  to  steer  him  to 
find  it,  and  then  he  nearly  flunked.  There  was  not 
enough  romance  in  the  whole  thing  to  make  him  re 
member  it  until  Gordon  begged  him  to  dig  up  some 
thing,  anything,  quick !  and  he  did  a  spurt  and  dressed 
up  that  old  mission  group  to  fill  in  space.  Romance ! 
go  down  there  and  slosh  around  in  the  adobe  mud  in 
the  wet  season,  or  fight  the  sand  fleas  in  the  dry 

77 


78  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

son,  and  see  how  much  romance  you  find.  He  just 
had  a  pipe  dream  and  got  it  on  paper  while  the  smoke 
still  curled." 

"  Come  over  here  and  talk  to  me  about  it,  Gillie," 
said  Miss  Mitford,  invitingly.  "You  know,  Lane 
has  never  told  any  of  us  just  which  mission  he  de 
scribed  in  that  story.  I  thought  I  knew  all  about  it 
till  I  heard  there  were  other  San  Juans.  Why  this 
mystery?  " 

"  Level  head  Lane  had,"  commented  Gilman,  seated 
in  the  pergola  between  the  two  ladies,  while  the  other 
men  went  inside.  "He  got  in  a  lot  of  local  politics, 
Indian  slavery,  and  thefts  of  altar  treasures  —  all 
true,  you  know,  but  likely  to  cause  hurt  feelings  if 
the  actors  were  definitely  located  or  named.  His  local 
color  and  facts  were  all  correct,  it  is  only  the  attri 
butes  he  gives  his  woman  to  which  I  object.  He  never 
even  spoke  to  a  woman  in  the  place.  The  woman  and 
the  romance  of  that  story  are  made  up  out  of  the 
whole  cloth." 

"Well,"  said  Sargent's  fiancee,  with  a  little  sigh  and 
smile,  "he  won  me  with  it." 

"Elinor" — and  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Dacy  was  cor 
rective — "how  can  you  pretend  that  so  serious  a  mat 
ter  as  marriage  was  the  result  of  a  mere  written 
romance?" 

"  But  I  'm  not  married  yet,  Aunt  Martha,  I  am 
only  engaged,  and  it  is  so  new  that  I  am  still  giving 
myself  reasons  for  it." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  79 

"  I  should  think  the  personality  of  McLane  Sargent 
is  reason  enough,"  stated  Mrs.  Dacy  coldly.  "  I  do 
not  at  all  approve  of  the  flippant  manner  of ^  the 
younger  set  towards  such  serious  matters  of  ^-"^ 

"  Tell  that  to  Lane,"  suggested  Lane's  fiancee.  "  It 
is  he  who  has  written  a  thrilling  story  of  a  pious  half- 
worldling.  I  can't  quite  see,  Aunt  Martha,  how  your 
conscience  can  really  welcome  him  into  the  family; 
think  how  frivolous  he  must  have  been  some  time  to 
even  imagine  the  life  of  a  woman  of  the  twilight." 

"Elinor!  I  should  think  in  the  presence  of  a  gen 
tleman  you  would — " 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  laughed  her  niece.  "  If  royal 
ties  from  the  book  are  to  furnish  our  bread  and  butter, 
why  ignore  the  literary  staff  of  life?  Of  course,  if  it 
had  been  a  failure  we  would  all  have  slated  the  author 
as  a  sacrilegious,  improper  person;  but  since  it  sells 
like  hot  cakes— well,  our  thrifty  Yankee  souls  have 
to  compromise  with  conscience." 

"The  Sargents  could  marry  anywhere,"  stated ^Mrs. 
Dacy.  "  No  one  could  use  the  word  improper  in  re 
gard  to  a  Sargent." 

"Then  they  have  us  beat  in  a  walk,"  retorted  her 
irrepressible  niece.  "Gillie,  though  you  have  quit 
work,  and  are  a  howling  swell,  I'll  wager  you  know 
quite  a  good  deal  of  the  live  scandals  vetoed  by  news 
paper  editors  or  owners.  What  is  the  latest  about  my 
interesting  cousin  Glyn?  Whose  wife  has  he  eloped 
with  last?" 


80  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

" Elinor!  I  hope  you  do  not  express  yourself  in 
that  way  to  Lane.  It  is  not  fair  to  our  family. 
Neither  Lane  nor  his  mother  have  ever  met  Glyndon, 
and  since  his  life  is  lived  abroad  of  late,  there  is  little 
chance  that  he  will  ever  return  here.  It  seems  to  me 
that  Glyndon's  life  is  strictly  a  family  affair." 

"Whose  family?"  asked  her  niece,  as  Mrs.  Dacy 
clicked  her  knitting  needles  irritably,  and  Gilrrian 
laughed. 

u  Don't  mind  me,  Mrs.  Dacy,"  he  begged.  "  Miss 
Mitford  knows  I  don't  count  as  one  of  the  vast  public, 
and  of  course  all  the  movements  of  men  as  wealthy 
as  Mr.  Wayne  are  sure  to  be  chronicled  and  enlarged 
upon." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  say,"  agreed  Mrs.  Dacy. 
"  If  Glyndon  had  not  made  a  fortune  in  those  Nevada 
mines — " 

"  You  would  still  be  slipping  cash  to  him  out  of  your 
housekeeping  funds,"  interrupted  Nell.  u  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  there  is  about  a  handsome  rake  to  make 
the  most  proper  of  grandmas  and  aunties  open  their 
purse  strings,  to  say  nothing  of  fond  mammas?  Glyn 
Wayne  has  been  the  special  pet  of  some  woman  as  far 
back  as  I  can  remember,  and  the  Nevada  money  of 
course  has  made  him  impossible." 

"I  still  think  he  could  have  been  reformed  by  the 
right  woman,"  and  Mrs.  Dacy  sighed  and  shook  her 
head  sadly.  "  His  marriage  was  a  great  mistake." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  81 

"Yes,  for  his  wife." 

"  Of  course,  it  is  not  pleasant  for  her,  either," 
agreed  the  other  lady,  with  an  evident  desire  to  be 
fair,  "but  Glyndon  should  have  married  a  home- 
loving,  domestic  girl  of  our  own  set  Southern  girls 
do  not  understand  our  New  England  men." 

"Gracious!  Aunt  Martha,  Glyn  is  not  New  Eng 
land,  he  is  the  universal  untrammelled  male  creature 
spoiled  by  doting  women  because  he  is  handsome  — 


or  was." 


"Well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Dacy,  resignedly,  gathering 
up  her  knitting  and  arising  to  join  other  guests,  "  every 
man  needs  a  home  of  his  own,  and  his  wife  might 
have  been  a  great  force  for  good  if  she  accepted  her 
wifely  duties  in  a  Christian  spirit,  and  realized  that 
woman  has  a  great  mission  in  life  in  the  actual  salva 
tion  of  such  men.  Glyndon  was  a  dear,  pretty  boy  — 
and  such  a  nice  manner." 

"There  you  have  all  the  requisites,  Gillie,"  said 
Miss  Mitford,  scoffingly.  "  Cultivate  beauty,  a  nice 
manner,  and  no  morals  to  speak  of,  and  you  can  carry 
our  purse  if  you  only  fling  us  a  smile  occasionally! 
Aunt  Martha  always  makes  me  feel  like  a  naughty 
child  with  her  prunes  and  prisms.  To  tell  the  truth, 
our  men  have  always  been  wild,  and  Aunt  Martha 
knows  it.  But  the  women  of  the  family  have  always 
clubbed  together  to  hide  it  on  fathers  and  husbands 
and  sons.  I  can't  blame  the  men.  Just  think  of  gen- 


8  2  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

erations  of  Aunt  Marthas  making  homes  happy  with 
framed  texts  on  the  walls,  and  a  quilting  bee  or  prayer 
meeting  for  diversion!'* 

Oilman  grinned  at  the  picture  suggested,  and  jotted 
down  something  in  a  red  notebook. 

"What  about  the  girls?"  he  asked.  "Can't  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John?" 

uOh,  when  I  just  boil  with  temper  over  some  of 
the  mundane  trifles  of  life  I  realize  it  is  the  smoth 
ered  rage  of  several  of  my  grandmothers  who  tried  to 
subdue  their  natural  instincts  by  prayer.  You  can 
laugh,  but  there  is  a  lot  of  truth  in  it.  I  can  just  fancy 
a  nice  domestic  wife  curbing  those  inherited  instincts 
of  Glyn  Wayne!  How  in  the  world  could  his  wife 
accept  her  wifely  duties  in  a  Christian  spirit,  when 
he  had  left  for  Europe  with  another  woman  before 
his  wife  had  finished  school?  Aunt  Martha  is  good 
as  gold  herself,  but  her  logic  is  peculiar  when  applied 
to  Glyn.  What  are  you  writing?" 

Gilman  finished  his  page  and  closed  the  little  book. 

"I  am  starting  in  a  thoroughly  scientific  way  to 
make  records  for  a  book,"  he  announced. 

"About  what,  a  novel?" 

"  Don't  know  yet,  only  making  human  notes  until  I 
get  enough  real  things,  real  ideas  of  real  people,  then 
I  will  decide  what  I  shall  use  them  for.  I  see  so  much 
hit-and-miss  work  going  into  print  that  I  am  going  to 
start  on  a  solid  basis." 

"  Good  boy !    Now  that  you  have  all  sorts  of  money, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  83 

you  can  afford  to  do  a  real  thing — if  it  takes  a  life 
time.  I  promise  to  utter  only  high  and  holy  thoughts 
when  you  are  around.  That  notebook  will  strike  me 
dumb." 

They  both  laughed  at  the  unlikelihood  of  such  a 
calamity,  and  then  instead  of  joining  the  others  in  the 
house  Nell  surveyed  his  new  car  approvingly,  and  said 
something  about  the  good  road  along  the  shore,  and  a 
little  later  they  were  gliding  under  the  shadow  of  the 
old  elms  northward  where  the  moorland  reached  to 
the  cliff  above  the  water  and  an  occasional  tree  broke 
the  monotony  of  the  wide  pastures,  or  the  thickets  of 
sumac  or  clambering  vines.  The  storms  of  winters 
gave  little  encouragement  to  growth  of  timber. 

"I  hope  you  come  early  and  often,  Gillie,"  stated 
the  girl  with  a  sigh,  as  they  whirled  along  the  lane 
of  blossoming  things.  "Your  car  is  a  dream.  I 
scarcely  regret  even  Tony's  boat  when  in  this.  And 
if  you  are  turning  literary  I  will  need  more  than  ever 
to  cultivate  you." 

''  Worth  working  for,"  decided  Gilman,  grimly. 

"Don't  be  sarcastic,  I'm  really,  truly  in  earnest. 
I  almost  lie  awake  nights  trying  to  fit  myself  into  the 
new  scheme  of  things.  Aunt  Martha  is  disgusted  with 
me,  but  you  know  what  an  ocean  of  difference  there  is 
between  Tony  and  Lane." 

"Quite  a  bit,"  agreed  Gilman. 

"  Yes,  poor  Tony  always  went  asleep  over  any  kind 
of  a  book — only  reads  the  racing  news  —  so  no  girl 


84  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

had  to  tire  herself  out  trying  to  keep  up  to  his  mental 
stunts.  But  I'm  likely  to  need  help  to  keep  in  line 
with  Lane,  and  you  must  be  the  help,  Gillie,  so  please 
get  literary  quick  as  you  can,  and  then  let  me  bask  in 
the  light  of  your  countenance." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Lane's  countenance?" 
asked  Gilman. 

"Not  a  thing,"  declared  Lane's  fiancee,  loyally,  "he 
is  the  best  ever,  but  he  thinks  I  know  a  lot  more  than 
I  do,  and  I  guess  I  will  have  to  take  a  correspondence 
course  in  wifely  training  before  I  am  fit  for  the  job. 
You  see,  I  didn't  have  to  study  to  keep  up  to  Tony, 
I  could  have  spent  money  as  fast  as  he  could  —  and 
that's  all  he  has  to  do." 

Gilman  chuckled  at  the  idea  of  the  correspondence 
course,  and  announced  his  willingness  to  be  the  co 
respondent,  at  which  Miss  Mitford  dared  him  to  say 
it  before  Aunt  Martha,  and  they  chaffed  each  other 
as  they  spun  along  the  shore  where  the  moorland 
reached  back  in  sunny  silence  to  Squaw  River,  and  the 
surf  beat  high  against  the  rocky  ribs  of  the  coast. 

"  I  hate  this  especial  curve  of  the  shore,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  white  foam  curling  over  brown  boul 
ders;  "that  entire  bay  is  full  of  treachery.  You  know, 
Tony  does  know  a  boat,  yet  he  was  all  but  battered  to 
death  out  there  last  year  when  Monica  was  here  —  got 
caught  in  a  hopeless  gulf,  and  a  squall  did  the  rest. 
The  lightship  men  saved  him,  but  the  boat  was  only 
fit  for  kindling  by  the  time  it  reached  shore.  I  was 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  85 

scared  silly,  for  we  could  see  it  all  from  yonder  point. 
After  that,  Monica  would  not  rest  until  she  had  a  boat 
of  her  own  moored  here  in  case  of  accident;  but  I  don't 
see  what  she  could  do  with  a  boat  in  that  wrathy  water 
when  Tony  failed.  There  is  her  bungalow;  let's 
go  up." 

"  But  I  understood  you  to  say  she  is  in  town,  or  was 
in  the  South?" 

"Oh,  I  never  know.  She  won't  write  letters,  ncr 
do  any  of  the  other  civil  conventional  things,  but  she 
is  a  dear!  I  don't  blame  her  that  she  won't  join  the 
family  parties  at  Aunt  Martha's ;  in  fact,  I  think  it  is 
nice  of  her  to  even  have  a  summer  studio  within  hailing 
distance;  it  shows  that  she  bears  the  family  no  grudge 
for  Glyn's  actions,  and  that  is  as  much  as  one  could 
expect — more." 

A  seldom  used  road  led  up  from  the  highway  to  a 
little  bungalow  of  concrete  in  the  midst  of  some 
gnarled  old  trees.  There  was  a  decided  foreign  note 
in  the  Moorish  chimney,  tiled  roof,  and  the  built-in 
concrete  seats,  wide  and  long,  at  each  end  of  the 
veranda. 

An  old  man  was  clipping  the  grass  along  the  edge 
of  the  tile  walk  in  the  leisurely  manner  of  one  who 
has  the  entire  summer  to  accomplish  a  task,  and  he 
shook  his  head  at  Miss  Mitford's  query  as  to  the 
owner  of  the  house,  and  held  his  hand  to  his  ear  in 
evidence  of  deafness. 

"  No,  there  ain't  no  folks  here  yet,  don't  know  any 


86  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

mor'n  that;  never  do  know  till  they  drive  up.  Am  my 
own  boss,  I  am.  Nothen  to  do  but  just  keep  the  leaves 
and  the  litter  cleared  up,  dassent  touch  a  tree  or  vine. 
Miss  Wayne,  she  likes  them  wild  like  they  are  — 
curious  notions.  I  could  make  a  right  smart  place  of 
this  if  she'd  let  me  cut  out  them  trees  and  make  a 
flower  patch  for  her.  If  it  wan't  for  these  old  stunted 
trees  you  could  see  this  place  miles  out  at  sea.  It 
would  show  up  mighty  fine  —  but  she's  the  captain. 
The  place  looks  a  hundred  years  old  a'ready,  with  all 
this  jungle  around  it — no  fault  of  mine.  I'd  have 
it  ship  shape  in  no  time,  but  she  won't  hear  to  it." 

He  further  informed  them  that  he  lived  in  a  little 
cabin  in  a  cove  to  the  south,  and  that  he  was  not  too 
old  to  take  a  run  out  with  the  fishermen  occasionally, 
though  for  the  most  part  he  stayed  in  port,  and  tinkered 
around  for  the  neighbors,  when  he  had  a  job. 

"And  Mrs.  Wayne  has  sent  no  word  about  com 
ing?"  shouted  the  girl  in  his  ear;  but  he  shook  his 
head. 

"Never  does.  That  wench  of  hers  did  come  out 
a  day  ahead  last  year,  an'  that's  all  the  notice  7  got! 
Maybe  cut  this  grass  all  summer  and  not  a  foot  to  walk 
on  it.  It  would  pay  her  better  to  rent  it — lots  of  city 
folks  would  give  her  a  good  price  —  but  she's  the 
captain." 

The  two  visitors  sat  under  the  trees,  and  looked 
out  over  the  restless  waves,  landlocked  in  part  by  a 
high  cliff  far  to  the  south,  and  the  long  low  reef,  like 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  87 

a  dark  finger  reaching  out  through  the  foam  on  the 
north.  The  tide  was  coming  in,  and  Elinor  Mitford 
confessed  it  made  her  homesick  for  the  boat  parties 
Nan  and  Tony  Allen  gave  in  other  summers.  Of 
course,  she  could  not  expect  their  boat  in  these  waters 
this  year. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Gilman.  The  fact  that  we 
all  love  you,  and  Sargent  won  you,  has  not  kept  me 
away.  Who  is  Allen,  that  he  should  arise  in  protest? 
The  fact  is,  Nanny  intimated  to  me  that  they  meant 
to  sail  up  the  coast  to  Boothbay  Harbor." 

"To  Boothbay!  We  were  all  there  together  last 
year;  it  was  ideal.  You  are  making  me  more  home 
sick  every  minute." 

"  Better  have  a  bad  case  and  get  it  over  with,"  sug 
gested  Gilman.  "There  are  two  pretty  girls  to  be 
with  them  —  sea  sirens." 

"Nanny  hasn't  sent  me  a  single  letter  since  Tony 
quarreled  with  me,"  complained  the  girl,  "  and  I  sup 
pose  when  they  learn  I  'm  engaged  to  Lane  she  never 
will  bring  her  party  our  way." 

"She  might  if  she  thought  it  would  not  jar  you." 

"Well,  it  wouldn't.  I'd  fall  on  their  necks  with 
joy.  They  are  always  such  a  jolly  lot,  and,  you  know, 
Gillie,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  find  a  jolly  lot  in  Aunt 
Martha's  house,  or  to  keep  them  there  when  you  do 
get  them.  I  Ve  only  been  engaged  to  Lane  a  week 
and  already  she  is  doing  her  best  to  get  us  both  in  line 
with  her  standards  of  matrimony  —  fairly  preaches  at 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


us!  I  don't  wonder  Lane  makes  an  excuse  to  get  back 
to  town  with  George  Hallet  tomorrow." 

"In  that  case  I'd  better  hie  homewards  with  his 
bride-elect  lest  Aunt  Martha  hare  dire  suspicions  of 
elopement,"  suggested  Gilman.  "I  mean  to  come 
often,  so  I  want  to  keep  in  that  lady's  good  graces. 
Did  Sargent  see  this?"  he  asked,  with  a  sweep  of  the 
hand  taking  in  the  woods,  the  dwelling,  and  the  rest 
less  sea,  "it's  a  dandy  picture." 

"No,  we  have  gone  the  other  roads  or  else  out  in 
the  motor  boat  This  is  his  first  visit  to  Uncle  Dacy's 
cottage.  I  knew  him  ages  ago  through  his  sister  at 
school,  but  my  various  uncles  and  cousins  and  aunts 
are  practically  strangers  to  him.  It's  a  horrid  bore 
having  them  look  him  over  and  appraise  him." 

"And  compare  him  with  the  might-have-beens,"  sug 
gested  Oilman. 

"Exactly;  but  worse  than  that,  to  have  him  weigh 
and  measure  them  without  them  ever  suspecting  what 
the  result  might  tot  up !  You  know,  our  family,  with 
all  their  self-esteem  and  local  importance,  never  really 
did  anything  in  the  world  but  make  money.'9 

"  Fascinating  occupation." 

"Of  course,  but  just  die  same  I  think  it  is  one  of 
die  reasons  Aunt  Martha  welcomed  a  Sargent  so 
quickly  into  die  family,  and  it  is  one  of  the  reasons  she 
is  just  a  litde  hurt  that  Glyn's  wife  threw  Glyn  aside 
like  an  old  shoe  —  or  rather  like  a  new,  cheap  shoe  that 
didn't  fit  You  know,  Monica  Sturtevante  has  a  fam- 


The  Worn**  of  the  Twilight  : •; 


ily  tree  fairly  HangKng  with  crowns  and  coronets  and 
swords  of  great  Bglucis.  Poor  as  poveilj,  you  know, 
after  the  war,  and  prouder  of  the  poverty  than  of  the 
family  tree,  I  guess.  Altogether,  it  harts  Aunt  Mar 
tha  that  a  Wayne  could  be  dropped  like  that,  and  in 
a  condescending  way." 

"Bat  I  understood  it  was  the  other  way  around — 
the  husband  who  hit  the  trail"' 

"So  it  was;  married  Monica  and  left  her  m  school 
down  Sooth,  and  a  year  later  left  America  with  another 
woman.  We,  the  family,  didn't  even  know  he  had  a 
wife  tin  later.  He  made  a  stack  of  money  about  that 
time,  and  I  guess  Aunt  Martha  was  startled  by  several 
revelations  (Uncle  Dacy  does  keep  a  good  many  from 

was  a  young  and  very  indifferent  wife!  It  is  the  indif 
ference  Aunt  Martha  can't  understand.  If  she  would 
only  weep  on  our  shoulders  or  pity  herself  or  pose  as 
a  forsaken  bride,  she  could  have  a  fittk  court  of  ad 
mirers  and  sympathizers,  but  she  only  smiles,  and 
works,  and  ignores  Glyn." 

"Any  question  of  divorce?" 

"She  ignores  the  subject,  so  Aunt  Martha  stiH  has 
hopes  of  a  reconciliation." 

"Does  he  want  that?" 

"Not  that  I've  heard  of;  it's  three  years  now  since 
he  has  been  in  America.  We  never  hear  of  him 


He 
is  on  the  down  trail." 


90  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Ye  —  yes,  I  heard  of  him  in  Italy,"  commented  Gil- 
man,  and  the  eager  questions  of  the  girl  were  cut  short 
by  the  car  gliding  over  the  green  of  the  lawn  and 
bringing  them  to  the  steps  where  Sargent  and  the  others 
were  chatting  and  waiting  for  the  wanderers.  Lunch 
was  waiting,  also  the  mail,  and  Elinor  fairly  pounced 
on  an  envelope  addressed  to  Mrs.  Dacy. 

"From  Nanny!  Thank  goodness,  she  does  write 
to  some  of  us;  tell  me  quick,  Aunt  Martha." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy,  with  a 
slight  lifting  of  her  brows,  meant  to  quell  the  eager 
ness  of  her  niece.  "She  has  a  boat  party  as  usual. 
Joe  Dacy  and  your  Uncle  Hamilton  are  to  join  them 
at  New  Haven  and  make  the  trip  along  the  coast.  Of 
course,  it  means  we  must  invite  them  here  —  I  must 
say,  Hamilton  seems  even  more  absent-minded  than 
usual." 

"  But  you  know  Nanny  has  come  every  blessed  sum 
mer  for  ages,"  protested  Nell,  while  Oilman  chuckled, 
and  the  other  two  men  smiled  across  the  table  at  each 
other.  Hallet  knew  so  well  the  absent-mindedness  of 
his  partner,  and  Sargent  knew  so  well  that  it  would 
never  occur  to  Nell  not  to  invite  any  number  of  last 
summer's  sweethearts  if  they  came  within  hailing  dis 
tance —  that  frankness  of  hers  was  her  chief  charm  to 
him. 

"Also,"  continued  Miss  Mitford,  "I  desire  to  be 
informed  as  to  the  sea  sirens  Nan  and  Tony  have 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  91 

aboard;  you  know,  both  Uncle  Dacy  and  Joe  are  sus 
ceptible  infants." 

"You  can  read  the  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy;  "in 
fact,  the  letters.  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  is  with  them, 
and  Lulu,  her  daughter.  They  each  add  a  line." 

"  You  mean  her  step-daughter.  I  fancy  Fannie  Smith 
is  not  too  eager  to  have  a  sixteen-year-old  daughter 
credited  to  her." 

"Elinor!" 

"  Now,  Aunt  Martha,  George  at  least  knows  that 
Frances  Smythe-Orville  was  simply  Mrs.  Orvel  Smith 
until  she  went  abroad.  It's  a  big  question  mark  with 
me  how  some  people  can  get  away  with  a  bluff  like 
that.  Of  course,  any  name  she  could  pick  would  be 
an  improvement  on  her  original  one  of  Dobbs  —  and 
that's  your  sea  siren?"  she  said,  addressing  Gilman. 

"  I  was  only  quoting  Nanny  Allen,"  he  explained. 
"  I  have  not  the  felicity  of  knowing  the  lady." 

"Well,"  commented  Nell,  as  she  spread  out  the 
pages  and  glanced  at  the  three  different  contributions 
to  the  letter,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see  Lulu  has  acquired  none 
of  that  particular  sort  of  veneer.  The  big,  round 
schoolgirl  writing  of  Lulu  Smith  is  a  rest  to  the  eyes, 
and  a  joy  to  the  heart.  She  is  a  dear  child." 

"  If  you  read  the  letter  of  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  you 
will  see  that  Lulu  is  scarcely  a  child.  There  is  a  man 
in  the  question,  a  count  of  something  —  what  is  the 
name,  Elinor?" 


92  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Elinor  glanced  over  a  sheet  covered  with  small, 
angular  penmanship. 

"  Count  of  Castlemar,"  she  announced.  "  I  can  just 
fancy  the  joy  of  Fannie  in  being  able  to  write  that  as 
a  sort  of  advance  herald  of  her  success  abroad!" 

She  did  not  note  that  Hallet  turned  towards  her 
quickly  as  she  read  the  name,  and  that  his  tone  was 
carefully  careless  as  he  asked  the  location  of  Castlemar. 

"Oh,  Fannie  never  gives  details — 'the  very  ancient 
estate  of  Castlemar  on  the  Mediterranean/ '  she 
quoted.  "  It  never  would  occur  to  Fannie  that  the 
Mediterranean  is  quite  a  little  pool.  She  would  only 
see  the  pebble  where  she  stood." 

"Sixteen  seems  an  absurd  age  for  marriage,"  re 
marked  Sargent.  "  It  almost  scares  us  even  at  our 
advanced  age,  doesn't  it?"  and  he  regarded  the  girl 
smilingly. 

"  It  certainly  does.  I  like  nice,  long  engagements," 
she  agreed.  "  One  disastrous  child  marriage  in  our 
family  is  quite  enough.  I  shall  take  it  on  myself  to 
tell  Fannie  Smith  of  Monica  Wayne." 

"  I  fail  to  see  the  necessity,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy. 
"  Monica  met  Lulu  and  her  father  here  the  first  sum 
mer  she  came  north,  and  was  very  fond  of  the  child. 
If  she  wanted  to  confide  her  —  ah  —  unfortunate  mari 
tal  affairs  she  has  had  every  opportunity;  and,  can 
didly,  I  think  you  should  remember,  Elinor,  that  she 
has  never  actually  confided  in  us." 

Nell  set  down  her  tea-cup,  regarded  her  aunt,  and 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  93 

then  with  her  finger  tips  pressed  on  the  dome  of  thought 
gave  an  exaggerated  imitation  of  deep  mental  con 
centration. 

"I  guess  you  go  up  head,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  con 
ceded.  "  Monica  never  has  had  a  confiding  nature. 
Her  lawyers,"  and  she  glanced  at  Hallet,  "may  know 
how  and  why  she  married  Cousin  Glyn,  and  why  they 
took  different  trails;  if  so,  we  are  an  eager  audience." 

"I  was  not  her  lawyer  then,"  said  Hallet,  gravely. 
"  I  only  know  that  Glyndon  Wayne  was  in  Mexico 
for  a  while,  and  that  her  father  died  in  Mexico.  The 
marriage,  I  believe,  really  occurred  in  California,  and 
from  there  she  went  direct  to  a  school  in  Georgia." 

"  And  we  know  little  of  the  rest,"  added  Miss  Mit- 
ford.  "  I  notice  if  any  of  us  ever  try  to  show  special 
interest  in  the  ante-Georgia  days,  Monica  quietly  folds 
her  tent  and  slips  away.  We  are  her  dear  cousins,  but 
we  must  not  intrude." 

"As  a  cousin-to-be,  I  am  interested  in  your  elusive 
lady,"  remarked  Sargent.  "  Is  her  studio  life  the  usual 
becoming  pose  for  the  detached  woman,  or  is  it  the 
real  thing?" 

"  If  orders  backed  by  substantial  dollars  are  any  in 
dication,  I  should  say  it  is  the  real  thing,"  stated  Hal- 
let;  "for  a  girl  with  less  than  three  years'  actual  art 
work  it  is  remarkable." 

"  Oh,  well,  she  is  art  mad,  just  lives  and  works  and 
dreams  art,"  said  Nell.  "  She  uses  every  dollar  she 
gets  to  pay  for  extra  lessons  —  put  in  all  last  winter  in 


94  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Spain  working  like  a  slave.  No  wonder  she  is  getting 
orders!" 

"  I  saw  a  note  in  last  month's  Studio  to  the  effect 
that  her  designs  were  accepted  for  the  stained  glass 
windows  of  a  new  chapel  in  Manhattan,"  remarked 
Gilman;  "also  the  entire  color  scheme  for  the  interior 
decoration  was  given  to  her.  That  is  going  some  for 
a  young  woman." 

"  I  never  can  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  of 
Glyndon's  wife  working  for  money,"  declared  Mrs. 
Dacy;  "it  is  too  absurd.  One  redeeming  thing  is  that 
her  work  is,  in  a  way,  ecclesiastical." 

;<Yes,  it  helps  take  the  curse  off,"  agreed  her  niece; 
"but  I  guess  that  came  to  her  through  choosing  the 
right  father." 

"Elinor!" 

"Well,  didn't  she  have  all  his  drawings  of  those 
magnificent  old  Spanish-Mexican  churches  to  start 
with?  I  should  call  that  an  unusual  foundation  for 
art  study.  You  must  see  that  collection  some  day, 
Lane  —  all  sorts  of  Mexican  and  Indian  things.  She 
told  me  she  had  made  duplicates  in  colors  of  every  one 
of  his  drawings  before  she  was  fifteen;  that  should  be 
equal  to  several  seasons  in  an  art  school.  Glyn  will 
wake  up  some  morning  to  learn  he  has  a  celebrity  for 
a  wife  and  want  her  back  again.  I  can  fairly  hear  the 
smashing  time  our  joyous  family  will  have  then." 

The  men  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Dacy  restrained  her 
self  to  looking  her  disapproval.  George  Hallet,  of 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


course,  was  as  one  of  the  family,  and  Gilman  she  did 
not  consider,  except  as  a  client  of  the  office,  and  a  well- 
paying  one;  but  Sargent  was  quite  a  different  matter, 
and  it  surely  should  be  worth  Elinor's  while  to  have 
him  think  the  best  of  her  family  instead  of  thus  dwell 
ing  on  the  most  humiliating  scandal  the  Waynes  had 
known  in  a  generation. 

Down  deep  in  her  heart  she  was  hoping  that  the 
bungalow  in  the  woods  by  the  shore  would  remain 
closed  for  the  summer,  and  that  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
or  the  Sargent  family,  would  not  learn  the  true  inward 
ness  of  the  situation.  She  could  fancy  the  air  and  the 
lifted  brows  of  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  if  Elinor  should 
blurt  out  the  ugly  fact  of  a  Sturtevante  ignoring  a 
Wayne  as  a  thing  too  insignificant  to  even  discuss! 
And  Monica's  youth  would  of  course  put  Glyndon  en 
tirely  in  the  wrong  in  most  minds  —  which,  to  Mrs. 
Dacy,  did  not  appear  quite  fair.  Monica's  ungirlish 
reserve  led  Mrs.  Dacy  at  times  to  doubt  whether 
Glyndon  had  not  had  his  own  troubles  if  all  was  but 
known. 

When  Hamilton  Dacy,  as  Glyndon  Wayne's  law 
yer,  had  gone  down  to  some  school  in  Georgia  and 
brought  back  a  remarkably  cool,  indifferent,  and  sar 
castic  bride  of  a  year,  the  coolness  and  indifference 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Dacy  almost  indecent,  and  she  had 
never  been  able  to  change  her  first  impression.  Of 
course,  the  family  influence  had  prevented  a  news 
paper  scandal,  but  that  was  as  far  as  their  influence 


96  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

could  reach.  It  could  not  even  locate  Glyndon  half  of 
the  time,  and  it  could  not  change  a  particle  the  mental 
attitude  of  Monica  Wayne.  Work  was  all  she  cared 
for — work  and  freedom.  She  was  quite  willing  to  be 
near  her  husband's  family  occasionally  if  they  kept  a 
respectful  distance  and  did  not  presume  to  direct  or 
advise.  In  her  first  interview  with  Mrs.  Dacy  she  had 
stated  that  "  families  could  be  awful  things,"  and  that 
she  did  not  mean  to  be  a  part  of  one.  She  had  a  pas 
sion  for  individual  freedom  which  to  Mrs.  Dacy  was 
not  quite  womanly — a  thoroughly  feminine  creature 
was  always  naturally  dependent. 

Thus  the  hostess  of  Dacy's  Harbor  felt  that  if  the 
Allen  boat  did  anchor  in  their  little  bay  she  would 
have  complexities  enough  for  one  woman  to  face  for 
the  summer,  and  that  if  Monica  should  elect  to  come 
to  the  north  coast  at  the  same  time,  her  cup  of  trials 
would  reach  the  brimming  point.  Keeping  the  scandal 
out  of  the  papers  would  prove  a  useless  expense  if 
Fannie  Smythe-Orville  got  to  know  the  details! 

She  excused  herself  directly  lunch  was  over,  and 
retired  to  her  room  to  frame  a  night  dispatch  to  her 
husband;  not  that  it  would  do  any  real  good,  but  it 
would  show  him  how  inconsiderate  he  had  been  to 
bring  Tony  Allen  as  a  guest  at  this  particular  time, 
and  incidentally  she  would  sleep  better.  Elinor  had 
expressed  so  many  tactless  thoughts  during  the  day  that 
the  poor  lady  felt  the  need  of  some  one  to  express 
herself  to  —  it  is  one  of  the  real  comforts  of  having  a 
husband. 


CHAPTER  V 

weeks  later  she  scarcely  felt  more  relieved 
or  at  ease  concerning  the  yachting  group  and  its 
effect  on  her  own  household.  In  fact,  as  she  came 
from  a  drive  to  the  village,  she  was  met  by  a  slight, 
pale  young  girl,  wearing  a  sewing  apron,  who  assisted 
the  butler  in  taking  parcels  from  the  carriage,  and 
added  the  last  straw  to  the  situation  when  she  an 
nounced  with  a  little  smile,  timid,  yet  joyous  — 

"  Mrs.  Wayne  is  home  again.  She  called  just  after 
you  drove  away.n 

"Called!"  repeated  Mrs.  Dacy;  uis  she  making 
calls  on  her  way  from  the  depot?  I  did  not  pass  her." 

"Oh,  she's  been  home  two  days.  They  came 
Thursday." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  "  Mrs.  Dacy  was  plainly 
chagrined,  and  halted  on  the  steps  to  turn  to  the  girl 
following  her  with  the  smaller  parcels.  "I  should 
think  your  grandfather  might  have  brought  us  word; 
he  knows  Mrs.  Wayne  has  no  messenger  but  old  Rosa, 
who  is  afraid  to  come  through  the  pasture." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  her  mistress  help 
lessly  for  an  instant,  and  then  lowering  her  gaze,  "  but 
he  —  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Dacy  —  but — " 

97 


98  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  Hetty  Craig,  that  he 
is  drinking  again." 

The  girl  nodded  her  head. 

"I  —  I  don't  think  he  meant  to,  Mrs.  Dacy.  Some 
of  the  fishermen  got  him  to  go  out  in  a  boat — and  — 
they  had  liquor  when  they  came  back.  And  —  they 
had  no  right  to ! "  she  added,  with  sudden  passion. 
"They  know,  they  all  know,  he  can't  stand  it  as  they 
do,  and  he  can't  stop  as  they  do  I " 

"  I  am  surprised,  Hetty,  to  hear  you  take  that 
tone,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy.  "I  should  think  you  would 
be  the  last  to  excuse  such  habits  after  all  we  had  done 
to  give  him  employment.  Of  course  he  can  stop  it  if 
he  wants  to." 

The  girl  said  no  more,  but  passed  up  the  stairs  with 
an  anxious,  troubled  face,  and  Mrs.  Dacy  stood  for 
a  few  moments  looking  after  the  carriage  on  its  way 
to  the  stables,  hesitating  whether  to  recall  it  and  drive 
to  the  bungalow  —  it  would  seem  a  civil  thing  to  do. 
Yet  Monica  had  not  chosen  to  notify  the  family  of 
her  coming,  and,  after  all  — 

She  concluded  by  untying  her  bonnet  strings  and 
ringing  for  a  maid,  who  told  her  Mrs.  Wayne  had 
walked  over  from  the  bungalow,  and  said  she  would  go 
down  to  the  shore  on  the  chance  of  meeting  Miss 
Elinor. 

While  they  spoke  of  it,  and  the  maid  relieved  her 
of  bonnet  and  gloves,  there  was  the  clatter  of  horse 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  99 

and  wheels,  and  Mrs.  Dacy  with  a  sigh  of  relief  went 
herself  to  the  hall  door. 

"  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  you,  George,"  she  said, 
graciously.  uTo  think  that  you  had  to  drive  from  the 
station  in  that  hired  trap  when  our  own  carriage  had 
only  just  returned  from  the  village!  Come  right  in. 
If  you  had  given  me  any  hope  of  your  coming  I  should 
have  gone  to  the  station,  but,  you  know,  you  said  it  was 
next  to  impossible  to  get  away." 

"  I  found  I  needed  to  make  it  possible,"  said  Hal- 
let,  "  and  here  I  am.  The  place  looked  sort  of  lone 
some  as  I  drove  up  —  where  are  the  folks?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  stated  Mrs.  Dacy,  desperately. 
"I  declare  I  scarcely  see  a  member  of  this  family 
from  breakfast  until  sundown  since  Tony  Allen 
brought  his  new  yacht  into  our  harbor.  They  fish  or 
sail  all  day  and  every  day,  and  Hamilton  Dacy  is 
quite  as  childish  about  it  as  Joe  and  Lulu." 

Hallet  smiled  in  his  genial,  quieting  way,  but  with 
full  realization  of  Mrs.  Dacy's  perplexities  under  the 
circumstances. 

" So  Tony  is  still  in  the  harbor?  Any  sign  of  sailing 
north?" 

"Not  the  slightest;  he  seems  perfectly  satisfied  with 
second  place,  and  is  behaving  beautifully,  which  is 
more  than  I  can  say  for  Elinor.  I  am  at  my  wits'  end, 
and  have  telegraphed  for  Lane;  he  will  get  here  this 
evening." 


ioo  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"Any  new  people  in  their  party?"  asked  Hallet, 
with  the  evident  desire  to  get  her  mind  off  the  flirta 
tions  of  Elinor. 

"No.  Waddell  Gilman  is  here  still;  and  George, 
he  is  talking  plays  now  instead  of  the  great  American 
novel  for  which  he  was  gathering  notes.  He  seems  to 
me  peculiar  enough  already  without  starting  to  write 
things  for  the  theaters.  I  never  could  quite  compre 
hend  how  a  Sargent,  especially  McLane  Sargent,  could 
find  pleasure  in  a  personality  so  —  well,  eccentric." 

"  Oh,  Gilman  is  a  good  chap,  Mrs.  Dacy." 

"Of  course,  I  suppose  he  is,  in  fact  every  one  likes 
him;  but  I  give  you  my  word,  there  is  not  a  servant 
on  the  place  or  a  fisherman  on  the  shore  he  does  not 
get  notes  from.  I  know  Tony  and  Elinor  make  up 
all  sorts  of  senseless  puns  to  get  them  into  Gilman's 
notebooks." 

"When  we  win  that  inheritance  suit  for  him  he 
will  forget  the  drama  and  raise  prize  pigs  and  pump 
kins  on  that  old  plantation.  How  are  the  Smythe- 
Orvilles?" 

"Fannie  is  raving  over  Italy,  but  I  think  they  spent 
every  dollar  and  had  to  come  back.  She  is  wild  to  get 
that  Castlemar  man  in  the  family,  and  will  take  Lulu 
back  there  next  winter.  She  says  the  man  has  money, 
but  I  think  it  is  difficult  to  tell  about  people  over  there." 

The  girl  Hettie  came  from  the  servants'  entrance 
and  passed  the  end  of  the  veranda,  halting  undecidedly 
as  she  noted  that  Mrs.  Dacy  was  not  alone. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  101 

"Well,  Hettie,  what  is  it?" 

"Only,  will  you  please  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Dacy,  long 
enough  to  go  down  to  —  the  cove?  I  finished  the 
sewing.'* 

"  Yes,  you  can  go,  but  don't  stay  long.  It  is  Mary's 
day  out  and  the  young  ladies  may  need  you  when  they 


come." 


"  Good  evening,  Hettie,"  said  Hallet,  cheerily.  "  I 
hope  all  goes  well  at  the  cove." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hallet,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  wan 
smile,  and  Hallet  looked  after  her  in  silence  for  a  bit, 
and  then  turned  to  Mrs.  Dacy. 

"  I  notice  she  does  not  commit  herself  to  a  state 
ment,"  he  remarked.  "  How  is  that  ancient  mariner  of 
ours?" 

"  Almost  worthless,  and  the  girl  wastes  so  much  time 
looking  after  him,  and  waiting  on  him,  that  she  is 
growing  about  as  useless  as  he.  I  have  continued  to 
employ  her  because  reliable  help  is  difficult  to  secure 
in  these  shore  places,  but — " 

Her  unfinished  sentence  and  weary  expression 
denoted  that  her  patience  had  almost  reached  the  limit. 

"Poor  little  girl!"  said  Hallet,  kindly,  "and  poor 
little  Lulu  destined  for  the  marriage  market!  Why 
don't  you  take  Nell's  advice  and  warn  them  by  the  story 
of  Monica  Wayne's  schoolgirl  marriage?" 

"  George !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dacy,  "  I  really  did  hope 
for  some  help  from  you,  yet  you  advise  that?  No, 
indeed,  I've  worked  too  hard  to  keep  that  scandal 


IO2  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

hidden.  It  would  be  so  much  easier  if  Monica  had 
not  taken  up  that  crazy  art  fad  —  the  wife  of  Glyndon 
Wayne  working  for  money!  I  have  no  patience  with 
her." 

"Well,"  said  Hallet,  slowly,  knowing  the  annoyance 
he  was  likely  to  cause  this  woman  whose  house  had 
been  as  a  second  home  to  him,  "  if  she  heeds  me  she 
will  not  be  his  wife  much  longer." 

"George!" 

"He  wants  a  divorce." 

" He  wants  a  divorce?"  Her  tone  was  incredulous 
and  her  face  was  one  of  dismay.  To  have  this  ques 
tion  come  up  at  this  special  time  was  a  new  calamity 
beyond  words. 

Hallet  nodded  and  smiled  at  the  irony  of  it. 

"Yes,  concludes  he  is  not  happy  as  the  gods  meant 
him  to  be.  He  wants  to  get  married  again,  wants  to 
come  back  to  America,  wants  his  wife  to  apply  for  the 
divorce,  and  wants  us  to  manage  the  legal  details.  Will 
you  help  us?" 

Mrs.  Dacy  fairly  gasped  as  she  saw  her  one  bulwark 
of  strength  slipping  away  from  her. 

"  I  am  astonished,  George  Hallet,  that  you  should 
ask  such  a  question.  I  certainly  will  not  help.  I  have 
always  hoped  to  see  them  reunited." 

"  But  since  that  is  one  of  the  most  improbable 
things?" 

"Why  should  it  be  improbable?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Dacy.  "Other  women  have  always  been  infatuated 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  103 

with  Glyndon  —  he  is  a  charming  man!  Monica  goes 
wherever  she  pleases  in  this  craze  of  hers  for  art 
study;  what  more  natural  than  that  some  day  she 
should  reach  some  European  point  where  he  chanced 
to  be  —  and  adjust  their  little  difficulties?" 

Hallet  eyed  her  smilingly,  and  yet  hopelessly.  Never 
in  the  world  would  Mrs.  Dacy  see  the  question  except 
as  she  meant  to  see  it. 

" Little  difficulties!  Have  you  forgotten  that  one 
of  the  difficulties  is  a  substantial  and  charming  woman 
of  whom  society  was  once  fond?  Her  husband  died 
last  year;  she  is  now  legally  free." 

"I  am  not  at  all  concerned  with  her  affairs;  she  has 
openly  placed  herself  beyond  recognition,"  returned 
Mrs.  Dacy,  impatiently,  "but  I  have  several  times 
thought  of  writing  concerning  Monica's  erratic  wan 
derings.  Glyndon  could  so  easily  have  chanced  to  meet 
her  in  Spain  last  winter  —  only  she  seldom  tells  any  of 
us  where  she  goes  until  after  her  return  —  and  she 
never  writes  letters." 

"I  don't  think  it  occurs  to  her,"  said  Hallet,  "she 
lives  so  much  within  her  own  work  and  plans;  and  you 
know  none  of  us  are  really  deeply  interested  in  art. 
I  guess  we  miss  a  good  deal,"  he  added,  half  sadly. 

"  I  can't  agree  with  you.  My  observation  shows  me 
that  an  artist  in  the  family  almost  always  turns  it  topsy 
turvey,  especially  a  woman  artist.  Please  touch  that 
bell  for  me  —  we  need  tea  if  we  are  going  to  take  dif 
ferent  sides  of  this  question.  Asv  to  Glyndon,"  she 


104  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

resumed,  "  I  certainly  would  have  written  to  him  when 
Monica  was  abroad,  but  I  did  not  know  his  address.  I 
only  know  he  is  living  in  Europe  somewhere  under  an 
assumed  name,  and  that's  all  I  do  know.  Hamilton 
Dacy  keeps  all  his  knowledge  of  Glyndon  under  lock 
and  key." 

"  Good  trait  in  a  lawyer,"  commented  Hallet,  but 
Mrs.  Dacy  gave  him  a  disdainful  glance  as  she  handed 
him  his  cup  of  tea. 

" Lawyer !"  she  repeated.  "You  know  perfectly 
well,  George,  that  if  he  had  not  inherited  his  interest 
in  that  legal  concern  he  never  would  have  owned  it. 
You  do  all  the  real  work  of  the  firm." 

"Someone  has  to  do  it,"  he  said,  sipping  his  tea 
and  watching  Mrs.  Dacy  and  thinking  that  his  partner 
had  evidently  failed  in  his  opportunities  to  assist  in  the 
social  affairs  of  the  summer.  Then  he  added,  quite 
irrelevantly,  "How  does  she  look?  Well,  I  hope." 

"Who,  Monica?  I  haven't  even  seen  her.  She 
has  the  most  peculiar  way  of  slipping  in  quietly  or 
saying  '  good-night,'  and  you  hear  of  her  next  in  Mex 
ico  !  I  presume  she  joined  the  others  at  the  shore,  or 
took  out  a  boat  herself  if  they  were  gone.  I  can't 
persuade  her  that  it  is  dangerous  to  go  out  alone  as 
she  does ;  anything  might  happen." 

"  But  nothing  does,"  remarked  Hallet,  reassuringly, 
as  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  end  of  the  veranda  and 
stood  looking  down  towards  the  shore.  "I  think,  if 
you  don't  mind,  I  '11  go  down  and  play  shepherd  for 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


your  scattered  flock;  evidently  Dacy  is  not  an  active 
guardian." 

"One  would  fancy  him  the  youngest  of  the  group 
when  he  catches  a  bigger  fish  than  Joe.  Do  start  them 
home;  they  would  loiter  until  moonrise  if  left  alone." 

But  before  he  had  reached  the  pergola  he  heard 
voices  raised  in  song  and  the  twanging  of  a  banjo.  A 
minute  later  he  could  see  the  lanky,  youthful  figure 
of  Joe  Dacy  at  the  head  of  the  group  trying  to  do  a 
sort  of  mad  Mullah  terpsichorean  feat  and  at  the  same 
time  furnish  the  music.  Evidently  Joe  had  caught  the 
prize  fish,  while  Hallet's  mature  partner  —  a  little,  fat, 
comfortable  man  —  carried  fish  and  poles,  and  beamed 
on  the  young  folks  who  were  emerging  from  the  long, 
vine-covered  pergola  like  a  flock  of  sea  birds  in  white 
garb. 

There  was  a  gay  waving  of  hands  and  hats  as  Hallet 
came  in  sight,  and  a  general  greeting,  jovial  or 
restrained,  according  to  previous  acquaintance.  A 
young  girl  who  was  trying  to  untangle  her  line  came 
running  to  him  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry  you  did  not  get  here  in  time  to 
go  out  with  us,  Mr.  Hallet!"  she  exclaimed  in  her 
high  girlish  treble.  "Such  a  lovely  day!  I  tried  to 
fish  over  the  side  —  did  not  make  a  single  catch." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Tony  Allen,  sauntering 
up  and  noting  that  her  whirling  line  had  caught  in  Joe 
Dacy's  sleeve.  "I  should  call  it  a  weighty  one  —  on 
a  string!" 


106  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Others,"  was  the  only  word  uttered  by  Joe  as  he 
turned  his  eyes,  though  not  his  head,  towards  Tony, 
and  past  him  to  Miss  Mitford.  There  was  a  little 
gasp  at  his  boldness,  and  then  all  laughed. 

"The  others  are  coming,"  said  Nell,  hastily.  " Gillie 
is  still  here,  the  to-be  immortal  J.  Waddell  G.,  and 
Fannie  Smith,  whom  you  were  to  meet  last  year  and 
didn't." 

"  Don't  mention  Smith,  please,"  said  Lulu  in  mock 
appeal.  "  Since  we  have  been  sharing  sunshades  with 
counts  —  and  no  accounts  —  on  the  other  side,  we  pre 
fer  to  forget  the  discordant  memory  of  Smith.  Smythe- 
Orville  is  so  much  more  euphonious." 

Mr.  Dacy  shook  his  finger  at  her  and  tried  to  look 
severe,  but  failed.  She  snuggled  up  to  him  and  whis 
pered  some  nonsense  as  Gilman  appeared  in  attend 
ance  on  a  petite  little  woman,  whose  extremely  blonde 
hair  looked  almost  infantile,  and  whose  flimsy  draperies 
were  as  sharp  a  contrast  to  the  simple  yachting  cos 
tumes  as  was  the  glaring  color  of  her  grass-green 
hosiery  and  sunshade,  as  compared  with  their  plain 
white.  She  lifted  a  lorgnette  and  surveyed  the  group 
under  the  trees,  and  slipped  a  little  silken  powder  pad 
over  her  nose  as  she  noted  the  presence  of  a  new 
man. 

"Ah,  Hallet,  old  boy,  just  too  late  for  the  fair!" 
called  Gilman,  cheerily.  "We  have  had  an  ideal  day. 
Let  me  present  you  to  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville.  We  had 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  107 

all  begun  to  think  you  were  going  to  keep  on  the  town 
treadmill  the  rest  of  the  season." 

"We  can't  all  be  care-free  butterflies  like  you,  Gil- 
man,  or  bloated  aristocrats  with  handsome  yachts  like 
Tony.  All  I  can  hope  for  is  a  look-in  occasionally. 
Where  is  Mrs.  Wayne  ?  Did  n't  you  meet  her  ?  " 

"  Monica  here !  My  dearest  Monica,  where,  which 
way  did  she  go?"  asked  Lulu,  eagerly,  as  she  grasped 
Joe's  arm  with  the  evident  intent  of  going  in  search. 

"Lulu,"  protested  the  sweet,  tired  voice  of  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville,  "  do  subdue  your  ecstasies.  One  would 
think  her  a  long  lost  sister." 

"  Oh,  but  Mama,  I  idolized  her  when  I  was  a  little 
girl ;  it  is  three  years  ago.  I  never  have  seen  her  since, 
and  papa  loved  her  dearly." 

"  Try  and  cultivate  a  little  more  repose  even  though 
papa  did  love  her  dearly,"  suggested  the  lady  with  a 
faint,  ironic  smile.  "  Mr.  Dacy  can't  enjoy  that  posi 


tion." 


Lulu  giggled  and  released  her  grip  on  Joe. 

"  Was  I  pinching  you?  "  she  asked,  and  then  the  two 
smiled  and  conferred  apart  in  low  tones,  while  the 
others  moved  to  the  seats  on  the  lawn.  Gilman  alone 
stood  near  the  pergola,  writing  in  a  little  notebook, 
his  eyes  occasionally  on  the  two  young  people. 

"A  chiel's  amang  you  taking  notes,"  quoted  Hallet, 
confidentially,  to  Nell,  who  made  a  grimace  of  comic 
dread. 


io8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"And,  faith,  he'll  prent  it,"  she  added.  Anthony 
Allen  regarded  Gilman  kindly,  but  shook  his  head. 

"  He  will  catch  some  other  fad  or  fever  before  the 
notes  are  ever  finished,"  he  decided.  "Gilly  has  a 
new  hobby  with  every  change  of  the  moon!" 

Tea  was  brought  out  to  the  rustic  table  on  the  ter 
race,  and  the  group  lounged  in  the  shade  and  dis 
coursed  on  the  day's  doings.  Gilman  carried  tea  to 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  and  they  sat  slightly  apart  in  con 
versation  too  interesting  to  permit  the  lady  to  note  that 
Lulu  and  Joe  were  making  a  comically  exaggerated 
retreat  towards  the  shore.  With  fingers  on  lips  and 
high,  stealthy  steps  they  afforded  the  others  quiet 
amusement  until  the  shrubbery  hid  them.  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville  nibbled  biscuit  and  sipped  her  tea  with  no  idea 
of  the  little  pantomime  behind  her  back;  in  fact,  the 
fondness  Lulu  was  exhibiting  for  comradeship  with  a 
mere  stripling,  a  stripling  without  an  extra  dollar,  was 
growing  to  be  a  source  of  annoyance  to  her.  When  a 
girl  gets  started  on  an  idle,  profitless  flirtation,  it  is 
always  more  or  less  of  a  problem  for  a  chaperone,  and 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  had  announced  that  with  Lulu 
she  did  not  mean  to  allow  any  such  useless  pastime. 

Of  course,  it  was  different  with  a  woman  who  had 
cares  of  her  own,  and  really  needed  certain  relaxations; 
and  to  witness  her  rapt  attention  as  Gilman  read  her 
some  of  his  human  interest  notes,  an  outsider  might 
have  been  led  to  think  that  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  was 
actually  flirting  herself,  or  else  in  earnest. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  109 

"I  do  not  usually  read  fiction,  Mr.  Oilman,"  she 
confessed  in  her  languishing  tones  and  exaggerated 
English  intonation,  "but  I  really  shall  look  forward 
to  reading  your  book,  you  know;  an  autographed  copy, 
please.  I  should  treasure  it!" 

"And  if  it  turns  out  to  be  a  play,  Fannie,  he  will 
have  to  substitute  an  autographed  order  for  a  box. 
How  long  would  you  treasure  that?" 

"You  must  not  mind  the  frivolous  remarks  of  the 
light-minded  group  under  that  tree,"  said  Gilman, 
warningly;  "they  are  a  non-inspirational  lot.  But  you 
are  different;  you  realize  that  when  a  man  elects  to  do 
a  really  representative  piece  of  work  he  should  select 
the  medium  with  great  care.  Suppose  you  have  a  story 
to  tell  [the  non-inspirational  group  smiled.  Nell  even 
giggled,  and  Tony  Allen  slid  limply  under  the  table  as 
if  overcome  by  the  prospect],  you  can  tell  it  in  a  poem, 
or  novel,  or  a  play.  Ever  have  your  head  examined?  " 

Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  sat  up,  forgetting  for  a  moment 
her  becoming,  languorous  pose,  while  Nell  touched 
Tony  with  the  tip  of  her  white  shoe  and  checked  his 
whispered  threat  to  scream. 

"I  mean  by  a  phrenologist,"  continued  Oilman, 
serenely  oblivious  to  the  joy  occasioned  by  his  latest 
hobby;  "a  really  wonderful  science.  All  his  life  a 
man  may  possess  astonishing  talents  shut  in  under  his 
skull,  and  never  have  a  suspicion  of  them.  Phrenology 
is  the  golden  key  to  the  casket;  through  it  I  discovered 
I  had  the  equipment  of  a  dramatist." 


I  io  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"How  remarkable,"  breathed  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 

"  The  only  way,"  whispered  Miss  Mitford. 

"  When  I  learned  that  I  went  to  work  in  a  thoroughly 
scientific  way.  Notes?  you  should  see  my  collection," 
said  Oilman,  growing  enthusiastic  in  the  presence  of  so 
sympathetic  a  listener.  "  I  have  them  all  classified 
already  and  only  been  at  work  a  month.  One  for 
tragedy,  others  for  comedy,  romance,  adventure, 
society,  outdoor  life  —  here  is  the  latter,"  and  he  drew 
the  little  red  notebook  from  his  pocket  and  turned 
the  pages  for  his  fair  audience.  "You  see,  phenomena, 
sea  notes,  woodland  notes.  How  could  you  better 
that?" 

"You  couldn't,  Gillie,"  conceded  Nell;  "the  only 
next  best  thing  would  be  to  buy  a  few  encyclopedias." 

"I  realized,"  said  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  "that  you 
were  planning  something  very  important.  And  does 
your  friend,  the  distinguished  novelist,  Mr.  Sargent, 
work  from  such  prettily  classified  material?" 

"  McLane  Sargent?  No,  indeed,"  said  Gilman, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Sargent  has  no  method,  no  method 
at  all;  just  strikes  out  on  the  trail,  hit  or  miss." 

"Usually  hits,"  said  Tony  Allen,  with  a  ponderous 
sigh  as  he  scrambled  up  from  the  grass.  "  He  makes 
center  shots  with  no  trouble  in  the  world." 

Nell  laughed  with  the  others  at  the  statement  and 
doleful  tone.  The  application  to  herself  was  so  frank 
that  the  amusement  was  general,  and  even  Mrs.  Dacy 
could  take  no  offense.  She  had  stated  to  Hallet  that 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  ill 

Tony  was  behaving  beautifully,  and  even  his  open 
avowal  that  he  had  no  hope  of  falling  in  love  again 
for  at  least  a  year,  was  made  so  frankly  that  he  seemed 
a  very  safe  comrade,  if  only  Elinor  would  be  goodl 
But  Elinor  was  not  making  any  promises. 

"  Lulu  is  quite  wild  over  that  last  book  of  his,  or 
rather  the  pictures,"  observed  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 
"  She  declares  that  the  woman  in  the  pictures  reminds 
her  of  your  friend,  Mrs.  Wayne." 

Elinor  Mitford  sat  up  suddenly,  very  straight,  and 
whistled,  a  long,  low,  thoughtful  whistle,  as  she  stared 
at  the  others. 

"Fannie,  you  are  a  green  and  white  jewel,"  she 
decided.  "  My  poor  brain  has  been  muddled  just  think 
ing  of  those  lovely  drawings;  they  did  have  such  a 
familiar  note,  yet  I  never  was  able  to  locate  the  rea 
son.  Tony,  do  run  in  the  house  and  get  my  copy  of 
the  book;  that's  a  good  child.  George,  did  you 
notice  any  resemblance?" 

"N-no,"  said  Hallet,  slowly,  "I  never  thought 
of  it,  yet — " 

"You  see,  as  soon  as  it  is  mentioned  you  do  think 
of  it.  And  Lulu  was  the  only  one  of  us  to  sense  the 
reason  why  they  seemed  so  —  not  exactly  familiar,  but 
just—" 

Words  failed  Miss  Mitford  as  she  spread  out  her 
hands  at  the  futility  of  expression  for  the  subtle  some 
thing,  fascinating,  yet  evanescent,  in  the  drawings. 

Tony  appeared,  walking  majestically  with  the  vol- 


112  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

ume  extended  on  open  palms  as  a  priest  officiating  at 
some  ceremony,  and,  making  a  profound  obeisance, 
offered  it  to  Miss  Mitford  with  a  quaint  grimace.  It 
was  the  lauded  work  of  his  successful  rival,  and  he 
appreciated  the  situation. 

They  laughed  at  his  pantomime,  but  gathered 
eagerly  around  the  book,  turning  the  pages  and  scan 
ning  the  illustrations. 

There  were  fragments  of  the  cliffs  and  purple- 
shadowed  waters  at  their  base,  long  stretches  of  yellow 
sand  meeting  the  curling  foam  of  the  breakers,  ranges 
where  the  yellow  of  the  poppies  reached  from  ocean 
to  mountain,  and  every  here  and  there  a  bit  of  the 
old  mission  —  broken  archway,  shaded  patio,  festoons 
of  the  pepper  trees,  and  wide-spreading  palms  —  all 
these  as  settings  for  the  woman  who  moved  through 
the  story,  slender  and  dark,  in  shadowy  mantilla. 
Whether  kneeling  at  a  shrine,  or  walking  under  the 
arches,  or  riding  under  the  aliso  trees  of  the 
canon,  all  of  the  group  were  suddenly  alive  to  the 
fact  that  the  wonderful  illustrations  gave  never  a  clear 
view  of  the  face  of  the  woman;  it  was  either  shadowed 
or  drooping  or  turned  aside.  Yet  so  cleverly  was  it 
done  that  the  spirit  and  feeling  of  the  figure  was  never 
weakened,  and  the  hands  alone  had  remarkable 
character. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,"  gasped  Elinor  Mitford, 
"I  never  saw  anything  quite  like  it!  Until  we  started 
to  look  for  the  face  I  never  discovered  that  it  isn't 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  113 

there.  Why,  it  is  like  a  set  of  puzzle  pictures,  and 
Lane  never  even  mentioned  it!  I  wonder  —  I  wonder 
if  he  passed  them  over  as  I  did?" 

"Well,"  remarked  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  "this  one 
picture  of  the  girl  in  the  mantilla  on  the  cliff  does 
resemble  the  figure  of  the  girl  alone  in  the  sailboat 
whom  we  were  watching  through  the  glass,  Mr.  Gil- 
man  and  I.  He  was  enthusiastic  over  the  way  she 
handled  it." 

"  Then  Monica  was  your  girl  alone  in  the  sailboat ! 
There  are  not  so  many  others  who  dare  this  coast 
alone.  She  is  like  a  fish  in  the  water." 

"  But  how  does  it  come  that  Mr.  Sargent  has  that 
especial  type  of  woman  for  his  illustrations?" 

"Are  they  even  acquainted?"  asked  Tony  Allen. 

"No,  indeed!  I  had  not  seen  him  for  years  until 
lately  —  never  even  mentioned  him  to  Monica.  But 
there  is  a  delightful  mystery  about  these  drawings  — 
no  one  knows  who  made  them,  not  even  Lane.  My,  I 
feel  like  a  female  Sherlock!  whoever  made  these  illus 
trations  had  studied  Monica's  figure  and  characteristic 
poses." 

"There  is  a  strong  suggestion  of  her,  even  her 
hand,"  said  Hallet.  "Some  clever  fellow  with  a 
camera — " 

"  Oh,  she  knows  artists  by  the  dozen.  One  of  them 
has  certainly  dreamed  of  her  as  she  made  those  draw 
ings.  I  do  wonder  if  Monica  knows  of  them.  All 
that  I  know  is  that  a  woman  sent  them  to  the  pub- 


114  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Ushers  and  signed  no  name  —  only  this  little  Chinese 
symbol — but  she  certainly  can't  be  a  Chink  I  I  can 
scarcely  wait  to  learn  if  Monica  knows  her." 

"I  shall  feel  quite  overwhelmed  by  all  the  talent 
here,"  remarked  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville.  "  A  picturesque 
artist,  and  two  novelists."  Her  glance  rested  on  Gil- 
man  as  one  of  them,  and  he  smiled  blandly.  He  had 
actually  talked  both  novel  and  play  until  he  felt  they 
were  at  least  partly  written. 

"Will  any  art  on  this  side  of  the  water  help  you 
forget  the  charms  of  the  Mediterranean,  or  your  latest 
victim,  the  Count  of  Castlemar?" 

"Oh,  that  is  a  life  apart!"  she  breathed,  raptur 
ously. 

"The  Count  of  Castlemar?"  said  Hallet;  "do  you 
refer  to  the  American  named  Harris,  who  has  lately 
purchased  an  estate  called  Castlemar  on  the  Italian 
coast?" 

"He  may  be  American  born,  but  I  fancied  him 
English;  he  is  so  delightfully  fascinating." 

Hamilton  Dacy,  who  had  been  lounging  in  an  easy 
chair  half  dozing,  opened  his  eyes  and  regarded  Hallet, 
whose  tone  was  carefully  careless. 

"A  man  about  forty-eight,  dark  eyes,  black 
mustache,  and  imperial?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I  know  something  of  the  —  fame  of  his  entertain 
ments,"  returned  Hallet.  "A  fine  place,  judging  from 
newspaper  items." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  115 

u  Magnificent ! "  breathed  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
ecstatically.  "  Marble  terraces  overhanging  the  sea,  a 
pavilion  under  glass  where  he  gave  moonlight  dances, 
a  perfect  fairy  land  —  there  is  a  land  of  real  romance 
for  your  notebook,  Mr.  Gilman!  " 

Gilman  listened  with  interest  to  her  glowing  pic 
ture  as  they  sauntered  along  the  terrace  in  the  wake 
of  the  others,  while  Hallet  smiled  ironically  at  Mr. 
Dacy. 

u  A  fine  background  for  a  man  whose  wife  is  glad  of 
every  extra  order  for  work,"  he  observed.  "  I  suppose 
you  caught  on,  Dacy  ?  " 

"Hardly.  Count  of  Castlemar?  What  new  freak 
is  that?" 

Hallet  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  "  Just  received 
from  Italy,"  he  observed.  "  I  took  the  first  train 
up.  Mrs.  Wayne  is  here.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
before  seeing  her,  and  I  should  go  back  in  the 
morning." 

Hamilton  Dacy  read  the  letter  with  an  accompani 
ment  of  shrugs  and  grunts  of  impatience.  His  wife 
halted  on  the  terrace  and,  observing  that  the  two  men 
had  lingered  behind  purposely,  guessed  the  reason. 

"Hamilton!"  she  called.  "I  suppose  you  had  bet 
ter  send  someone  to  look  for  Monica." 

"  I  will  let  him  go  in  a  minute,  Mrs.  Dacy  —  a  little 
business — " 

"  But  I  utterly  disapprove  of  the  *  business.1  '  Until 
death  do  ye  part/  says  the  marriage  service." 


n6  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Mrs.  Dacy,  when  a  husband  crosses  half  the  world 
with  another  —  lady  friend  —  and  leaves  his  wife  be 
hind,  we  have  to  realize  that  life  has  many  deaths  to 
consider  besides  the  final  one." 

"  Of  course,  I  can't  defend  Glyndon's  conduct,"  she 
conceded,  "but  there  has  never  been  a  divorce  in  the 
family,  and  I  can't  see  that  one  is  needed  now.  It 
would  make  a  horrid  scandal." 

Her  husband  finished  reading  the  letter,  and  paced 
down  to  the  pergola  and  back,  his  hands  clasped  besides 
him,  and  a  frown  on  his  round,  good-natured  face.  His 
wife,  receiving  no  reply  from  him,  turned  back  to  the 
house.  Having  asserted  herself,  she  could  afford  to 
wait  for  an  opportunity  to  discuss  the  matter  alone 
with  him. 

"  Gad!  he 's  a  case,"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  finally.  "  Tired 
of  that  fool  woman,  and  I  suppose  he  wants  a  new 
one,  who  insists  on  marriage  as  a  sop  to  Society! " 

"See,  here,  Dacy,"  said  Hallet,  guardedly,  as  the 
two  paced  side  by  side  across  the  lawn.  "  Mrs.  Wayne 
gave  you  her  little  money  to  take  care  of,  or  invest. 
Can't  you  make  a  lucky  strike  with  that  deposit,  clear 
a  couple  of  thousand  for  her?  Not  enough  to  make 
her  suspicious,  but  enough  to  cover  divorce  costs  if  she 
could  bring  herself  to  consider  it.  The  cost  might  be  a 
drawback,  and  she  is  so  independent." 

"  Cost,  nonsense,"  growled  his  partner.  "  Why 
should  she  consider  cost?  Doesn't  he  offer  to  pay  all 
bills,  and  make  her  a  fine  allowance  besides?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  117 

"You  know  she  hasn't  touched  his  money,  and  that 
she  won't  touch  it." 

"But  this  lucky  strike  business?  The  two  thou 
sand—" 

"I'll  furnish  that,"  said  Hallet,  quietly,  "but  —  it's 
between  you  and  me,  Dacy." 

Hamilton  Dacy  sat  down  suddenly  on  a  rustic  seat 
and  stared  at  his  partner  in  amazement  that  was  half 
reproof. 

"  Dangerous  ground,  George,  dangerous  ground." 

Hallet  felt  the  color  flaming  in  his  face  as  Dacy 
stared,  and  frowned,  and  tapped  the  arm  of  the  chair 
nervously.  He  had  never  in  all  their  experience  had 
call  to  check  George  Hallet  for  an  unwise,  irrational 
impulse  —  George,  who  was  steady  as  the  town  clock, 
but  this  — 

"Oh,  damn  the  conventions!"  exclaimed  Hallet  in 
answer,  not  so  much  to  Dacy's  words  as  his  expression. 
"  Why  should  a  man  not  help  a  woman  friend,  when 
he  is  allowed,  and  expected,  to  turn  his  pockets  inside 
out  for  a  man  friend?  She  won't  borrow  from  his 
relatives;  she  has  but  little  capital  of  her  own.  I'd 
give  a  lot  more  than  the  money  to  see  her  free  entirely. 
She  is  only  a  girl  after  all;  why  can't  we  help  her  to  a 
girl's  freedom?" 

"  And  what  about  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dacy,  bluntly. 

"I  wouldn't  dare  offer  her  the  money,1'  acknowl 
edged  Hallet,  "  and  I  don't  know  that  she  would  ever 


Ii8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

look  at  me,  but  if  she  were  free  —  well,  I  could  take  my 
chance  with  the  others!  " 

"  If  she  has  good  sense  you  will  win,  George,  but  a 
woman  is  too  uncertain  to  bet  on  —  even  Monica. 
You  Ve  won  this  court  though.  I  '11  back  you  up ;  but 
what  did  that  *  count'  business  mean?  I  didn't 
grasp  it." 

"Did  I  only  show  you  one  letter?"  asked  Hallet, 
searching  his  other  pockets  and  halting  as  he  saw  a 
woman  coming  up  the  cliff,  appearing  and  disappearing 
again  in  the  shrubbery.  "  Never  mind  about  the  other 
letter  now — she  is  coming.  You  speak  to  her  at  once 
concerning  the  money  you  made  for  her  in  stocks  —  I'll 
go  and  meet  her." 

"  But  see  here,  Hallet !  Confound  it.  Tell  me  what 
stock?" 

But  Hallet,  in  passing  between  two  great  clumps  of 
laurel,  made  a  rustle  of  branches,  drowning  the  last 
word,  and  Hamilton  Dacy  was  left  sputtering  and 
uncertain,  while  his  younger  partner  reached  the  edge 
of  the  lawn  just  as  a  girl  in  gray  emerged  from  the 
shrubbery.  Gowned  and  shod  in  gray,  she  had  the 
touch  of  white  in  the  loose  tie  under  the  sailor  collar, 
and  the  white  lace  mantilla  falling  from  her  shoulders. 
Some  unruly  branches  had  caught  in  her  hair,  and  in 
loosening  a  twig  her  face  was  averted  and  half  turned 
aside,  so  that  she  did  not  see  Hallet  until  he  was  quite 
close. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  119 

She  uttered  a  little  cry  of  pleasure  and  both  hands 
went  out  to  him  quickly. 

"Of  course,  you  would  come  through  the  jungle 
instead  of  the  graded  path,"  he  observed  as  he  picked 
some  leaves  from  her  hair,  and  Hamilton  Dacy,  watch 
ing  them,  suddenly  decided  that  George  might  have  a 
chance  if  affairs  worked  out  right — and  what  a  good, 
sensible  thing  it  would  be.  Strange  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  before. 

"  Everything  is  commonplace  on  the  graded  path," 
said  the  girl  in  gray,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  grimace 
tinged  by  a  smile,  and  then  she  went  forward  to  the 
older  man  and  shook  hands  heartily. 

"  Uncle  Dacy,  you  all  ran  away  from  me,"  she  com 
plained.  "  I  was  out  on  the  water  alone  but  could  not 
find  you." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  gave  us  no  hope  that  we  might 
expect  you,"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  leading  her  to  a  seat  with 
a  certain  affectionate  regard.  "You  know  none  of  us 
would  be  surprised  to  hear  from  you  in  Peru.  We 
never  do  know  when  you  will  dawn  upon  us  or  when 
you  will  fade  away.  Well,  well,  hard  work  seems  to 
agree  with  you,  and  Hallet  here  tells  me  you  are  going 
in  for  this  sort  of  thing  seriously,"  and  he  touched  a 
small  sketch  book  she  carried. 

"I  should  say  so,"  she  returned  gaily.  "Maum 
Rosa  and  I  have  been  working  ourselves  to  frazzles  on 
my  new  studio.  My  first  real  workshop  in  the  city! 


I2O  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

I  am  delighted  with  it,  and  shall  do  some  portraits  next 
winter  in  addition  to  my  other  work.  All  good  friends, 
please  remember  me." 

"  I  certainly  shall,'1  said  Hallet.  "  I  give  you  a  com 
mission  now  to  paint  Dacy,  but  I  believe  he  has  some 
good  news  for  you,  and  I  hope  I  have  some  more." 

Monica  Wayne  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
quizzically. 

uTwo  lawyers,  each  with  separate  and  individual 
good  news  for  me ! "  she  said,  looking  straight  ahead 
as  if  weighing  the  statement.  Then  she  turned  confi 
dentially  to  Dacy  and  asked  in  a  pretense  of  a  whisper, 
"Who's  dead?" 

"  Monica ! " 

"  My  only  guess,"  she  retorted,  smiling  at  his 
attempted  austerity.  "You  had  better  tell  me." 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  impressively,  "I  had  made  two 
thousand  for  you  in  a  lucky  investment." 

"With  my  money?"  she  asked,  eyeing  him  as  he 
nodded  complacently.  "  You!  Why,  I  went  with  you 
to  order  things  last  summer  at  the  village  store,  and 
—  you  —  didn't  know  cabbages  from  cauliflower." 

"  Cabbages  are  not  quite  in  the  same  class  with 
stocks,"  he  returned. 

"But — I  thought  you  invested  my  little  money  in 
government  bonds  —  do  they  take  jumps  like  that?" 
she  persisted. 

Hamilton  Dacy  looked  towards  Hallet  for  help,  but 
Hallet  was  looking  seaward. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  121 

"Why  —  you  see  —  I  thought  it  was  a  good  thing," 
he  stated,  a  bit  lamely,  "  and  when  I  saw  a  good  chance 
in  mining  stocks — " 

"Mining  stocks,  what  in?"  asked  Monica  Wayne, 
"and  when?" 

"Ah,  Monday,  the  23rd  —  no,  24th  in  —  in — "  and 
he  moved  a  step  towards  Hallet  as  Monica  lifted  her 
hat  from  the  ground  where  it  had  fallen.  "George, 
what  in?" 

"Anaconda,"  said  Hallet  without  turning  his  head. 
But,  quietly  though  it  was  spoken,  Monica  Wayne 
heard  it  and  grew  a  trifle  more  alert,  as  one  who  was 
accustomed  to  hold  herself  on  guard. 

"Yes,  Anawanda,"  stated  Dacy,  easily,  as  if  dispos 
ing  of  the  question,  "and  now,"  he  added,  briskly, 
"you  must  come  in  and  meet  the  others;  they  are  all 
waiting  for  you." 

"How  do  you  spell  it?"  asked  the  girl,  ignoring 
entirely  the  social  joys  within  reach,  and  Mr.  Dacy 
with  a  final  attempt  at  bluff  spelled  "  A-n-a-w-a-n-d-a," 
at  which  Hallet  groaned  and  Monica  Wayne  laughed. 

"Romancing  is  hard  work,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 
"  Don't  you  try  it  again  in  warm  weather.  You  dear 
old  goose !  there  is  an  Anawanda  stock  on  the  market 
— bogus  stock.  I  left  a  friend  prostrated  in  New 
York  because  she  had  invested  in  it.  Now  Uncle 
Dacy,  'fess  up!  Why  are  you  trying  this  sort  of 
thing  with  me?" 

Hamilton  Dacy  faced  her,  pompous  and  incredulous 


122  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

as  she  began,  limp  and  exasperated  as  she  questioned 
him.  What  business  had  a  pretty  girl  to  be  better 
posted  on  mining  stocks  than  the  man  who  was  virtually 
the  head  of  the  family?  He  had  always  understood 
that  the  artistic  temperament  was  lacking  in  practical 
equipment.  Why,  even  his  practical  wife  would  have 
been  so  delighted  to  have  the  extra  money  that  she 
would  not  have  cared  an  iota  what  stock  it  came  from ; 
but  Monica — well,  Monica  was,  to  put  it  mildly, 
difficult. 

"Why,  why,  Monica, "  he  began,  courageously. 

"  Now  the  undraped  truth,  Uncle  Dacy !  " 

"Well,  you  see,  well,  we  thought,  Hallet  and  I — " 

"Hallet  can  tell  his  own  news,*1  said  his  partner, 
coming  forward,  as  Mr.  Dacy  floundered  and  failed 
under  Monica's  ironical  smile.  "I  think  Mrs.  Dacy 
spoke  of  tea,  and — " 

"  So  she  did,"  agreed  the  mendacious  Dacy,  plainly 
relieved  at  the  suggestion.  "George  can  tell  you  all 
about  it,  Monica.  You  —  you  can  depend  on  George." 
With  which  quite  unnecessary  advice  he  beat  a  retreat 
to  the  house,  grumbling  condemnation  on  the  Anacon- 
dawanda  stocks. 

Monica  Wayne  looked  after  him,  amused  and  puz 
zled,  and  then  turned  to  Hallet,  who  stood  silently 
regarding  her. 

"How  generous  of  him,"  she  said,  with  a  tender 
note  of  affection  in  her  mellow  voice.  "  But  why  should 
he  do  that,  or  try  to  do  it?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  123 

"  Perhaps  to  help  you  arrange  this,"  he  said,  sitting 
beside  her  and  offering  her  the  letter  Dacy  had  read. 
She  put  forth  her  hand,  but  drew  it  back  as  she  saw 
the  writing,  and  the  warm  notes  were  gone  from  her 
voice,  the  smile  from  her  deep  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  I  care  to  read  that,"  she  remarked, 
mdifferently.  "  I  can  trust  you  to  tell  me  all  I  need  to 
know." 

"  Mr.  Wayne  wants  a  divorce." 

She  leaned  back  and  looked  at  him  with  a  little 
grimace,  showing  the  white  teeth. 

"  Get  it  for  him,  Mr.  Lawyer,"  she  advised. 

"  We  can't;  no  one  can.  The  matter  rests  with  you," 
he  stated,  briefly.  "He  offers  you  a  most  substantial 
settlement  if  you  will  secure  a  divorce  allowing  him  to 
marry  again." 

"I  might  consider  it  if  he  married  the  woman  he 
went  away  with,"  she  observed,  "  the  woman  he  should 
have  married  when  he  married  me." 

George  Hallet  regarded  her  with  a  sort  of  wonder 
in  his  eyes,  but  shook  his  head. 

"He  could  not  have  married  her  then;  she  was  not 
free.  It  is  not  likely  he  will  marry  her  now.  She  was 
very  reckless,  more  reckless  than  you  know.  Her  story 
is  unfortunately  too  well  known,  and  society — " 

"But  society  would  receive  him  with  open  arms  if 
he  abandons  her ! "  interrupted  Monica  Wayne,  impa 
tiently.  "Dear  society!  George  Hallet,  I  came  up 
here  for  a  holiday,  and  you  greet  me  with  that ! " 


124  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

She  waved  a  shapely,  accusing  hand  towards  the 
letter  she  disdained  to  read.  But  Hallet  caught  the 
hand  and  checked  her  evident  intent  to  follow  Dacy 
to  the  house. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I  know  they  all,  Mrs. 
Dacy  especially,  advise  you  against  divorce,  but  they 
are  thinking  of  the  family,  while  I  am  thinking  of  you. 
By  the  law  you  are  still  his  wife." 

"  I  shall  be  my  own  law." 

"Wait,"  he  said,  persuasively,  and  took  an  envelope 
from  his  pocket  containing  some  newspaper  clippings, 
which  he  unfolded.  "  These  are  gleaned  from  foreign 
correspondents  and  all  refer  in  various  tones  to  the 
startling  notoriety  gained  lately  by  a  man  called  by 
courtesy  the  Lord  of  Castlemar.  His  excesses  fur 
nished  gossip  of  no  small  importance  in  Italy  last 


winter." 


"Well,  what  of  that?"  she  asked,  with  a  little 
puzzled  frown. 

"  Glyndon  H.  Wayne  of  New  York  became  Harris 
Glyndon  of  Paris  —  with  Mrs.  Harris  Glyndon,  of 


course." 


Mrs.  Wayne  was  regarding  a  scratch  on  her  pretty 
gray  shoe,  and  a  snagged  place  on  the  gray  silk  stock 
ing —  already  a  broken  thread  had  started  a  tiny  ladder 
on  the  instep. 

"Your  news  is  three  years  old,  Mr.  Lawyer,"  she 
observed. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  125 

George  Hallet  looked  at  her  grimly,  and  then  leaned 
forward,  tapping  the  paper  impressively. 

"This  is  not;  he  has  left  Paris,  and  lately,  Mrs. 
Glyndon.  He  has  bought  an  estate  in  Italy  called 
Castlemar,  and  the  title  is  assumed  with  the  property, 
or  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  group  of  sycophants ! 
The  new  friends  of  Harris  know  little  of  Mr.  Glyndon, 
and  nothing  at  all  of  Mr.  Wayne,  but  some  day  there 
will  be  an  explosion  over  there,  and  some  lurid  scandals, 
also  our  home  papers  will  have  full-page  pictures  of 
all  the  principals.  Don't  risk  having  your  name 
dragged  through  the  mire  he  has  made.  He  wants  a 
divorce ;  let  him  have  it  and  get  your  own  freedom." 

He  was  so  earnest  in  his  appeal  that  she  did  not 
smile  any  more;  neither  did  she  look  at  him.  His  per 
sonal  interest  crept  into  his  tones  and  she  glanced 
towards  the  terrace,  hoping  for  some  interruption,  but 
no  wished-for  intruder  was  in  sight. 

"  Do  the  Dacys  know  this?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"Only  that  he  wants  the  divorce.  Mrs.  Wayne, 
some  day  you  also  may  want  it.  You  are  young  to 
think  of  all  your  life  alone,  and  —  I — " 

Monica  Wayne  halted  him  with  lifted  hands  of 
protest  as  she  rose. 

"  Don't  spoil  my  holiday  by  suggesting  marriage  as 
an  inevitable  bugaboo  of  the  future,"  she  said,  mock 
ingly.  "  No,  thank  you.  Matrimony  as  an  institution 
has  no  charm  for  me." 


126  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Oh,"  and  Hallet's  expression  was  rueful  as  he  fol 
lowed  her  to  the  veranda,  "  if  you  regard  it  merely  as 
an  institution ! " 

"  My  only  point  of  view,"  she  said,  lightly,  and  then 
with  a  tardy  appreciation  of  his  helpfulness  she  stopped 
at  the  veranda  steps  and  added,  "  But  I  do  realize  that 
you  mean  it  all  for  my  own  good,  and  I  promise  to 
think  of  your  proposal." 

In  their  earnestness  neither  of  them  had  noticed  the 
group  inside  the  open  French  window  until  Elinor  Mit- 
ford  laughed,  and  then  emerged  to  greet  Mrs.  Wayne 
with  an  avalanche  of  kisses  and  rapturous  expressions 
of  joy. 

"A  proposal  your  very  first  day  at  the  shore! 
Monica  Wayne,  I  am  surprised,  and" — she  added, 
turning  to  the  others — "she  promised  to  think 
about  it ! " 

Mrs.  Dacy  looked  sharply  at  Hallet,  but  he  only 
smiled  at  her,  while  Tony  Allen  made  his  nicest  bow 
and  lifted  Mrs.  Wayne's  hand  to  his  lips.  Tony  was 
always  on  his  best  behavior  with  her. 

"  Madame  Monica,  moon  and  tide  have  been  wait 
ing  until  you  arrived,"  he  stated.  "We  can  now  con 
sider  our  summer  as  here." 

"How  nice  to  find  you  and  Nanny  in  the  harbor 
ahead  of  me,"  she  said,  greeting  them  in  frank  com 
radeship.  "  Did  not  some  one  mention  tea  ?  " 

"Just  around  the  corner,"  stated  Tony,  and  drew 
her  hand  through  his  arm. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  127 

"Oh,  wait  one  little,  little  moment,"  begged  Elinor. 
"Tony,  where  is  that  book?  Monica,  do  stand  just 
as  you  are  and  let  me  drape  this  lace  scarf  over  your 
head  —  there,  if  that  window  was  only  an  arch  instead 
of  a  square,  and  those  trees  outside  were  only  palms 
instead  of  elms — " 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about,  Nell?" 
demanded  the  improvised  model,  "and  what  have 
you  there,  Tony?" 

"  McLane  Sargent's  new  book,  '  The  Woman  of  the 
Twilight/" 

"  And  we  have  all  decided  that  the  artist  who  made 
those  illustrations  has  studied  you,  Monica  Wayne ! " 
announced  Nell  in  triumph.  "  It  is  exactly  your  type. 
Here  is  the  picture  of  the  woman  in  the  arch,  a  certain 
pose,  a  certain  style  —  it  is  almost  identical." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  Monica,  tossing  the  scarf  from 
her  head  to  her  shoulders.  "You  have  the  most 
remarkable  imagination,  Nell." 

"  Imagination  nothing,"  returned  Nell  in  glee. 
"  They  all  can  see  it  It  will  be  a  joy  to  show  Lane." 

"  Lane ! "  repeated  Monica,  looking  at  her  in  a  puz 
zled  way.  "You  mean  McLane  Sargent,  the  writer? 
You  —  know  him?" 

"  Slightly,"  acknowledged  Nell,  to  the  amusement  of 
the  others.  "  He  is  a  great  pet  of  Auntie's.  Now  tell 
us,  Monica,  do  you  know  who  made  those  illustra 
tions?" 

Monica  Wayne  sank  into  a  seat,  while  Nell  turned 


ia8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  leaves  rapidly,  showing  her  one  drawing  after  an 
other  without  receiving  a  word  of  comment:  "  Do  you, 
Monica?" 

"What  is  the  name?"  asked  Mrs.  Wayne.  "None 
of  these  are  signed." 

44 Oh!"  sighed  Nell,  hopelessly.  "If  we  knew  the 
name  we  would  know  all  about  it.  Did  you  ever  pose 
for  a  friend  like  this,  or  this?" 

"Never,"  stated  Monica  Wayne,  decidedly.  "It  is 
a  real  test  of  devotion  to  pose  for  a  brother  or  sister 
artist,  and  I  am  not  a  devoted  creature.  Any  little 
similarity  you  think  you  have  discovered  is  a  mere 
coincidence." 

"  Think  I  have  discovered.    Why,  Tony—" 

"Tony  always  finds  living  is  more  comfortable  if  he 
agrees  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wayne,  serenely.  "So 
you  two  children  can  look  at  pictures  while  Mr.  Hallet 
and  I  have  tea." 

44  Now,  see  what  you  spoiled  for  me,"  said  Tony, 
looking  dolefully  after  Mrs.  Wayne  and  Hallet.  "  If 
it  had  not  been  for  your  dinky  little  picture  book  it 
might  have  been  my  proud  task  to  select  the  lump  of 
sugar  for  her  tea.  I  never  loved  a  dear  gazelle  but 
what  it  fell  with  the  buttered  side  down ! " 

44  Tony,  you  get  crazier  every  minute,"  was  Miss 
Mitford's  retort  to  his  wail.  "  But  I  will  find  you  a 
nice  little  sugar  plum  instead  of  the  gazelle.  You 
never  did  get  me  those  water  lilies  you  promised." 

"Now   is   the   accepted   time,"    announced   Tony, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  129 

valiantly,  and  the  two  ran  down  the  steps  just  as  Mrs. 
Dacy  caught  sight  of  them  through  the  window. 

" Elinor,  where  are  you  going?"  she  asked,  and 
the  two  halted,  and  Tony  drew  a  doleful  face  of  comic 
despair. 

"  No  sugar  plums  for  me,"  he  sighed. 

"  Tony  was  going  down  to  the  pond  to  get  me  lilies," 
said  Elinor,  bravely;  but  Mrs.  Dacy  shook  her  head. 

"  Tony  can  escort  you  instead  to  meet  the  next  train," 
she  suggested.  "  Mr.  Sargent  will  be  on  it." 

"So,  you  sent  for  him?"  asked  Miss  Mitford,  look 
ing  very  levelly  at  her  aunt,  but  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Dacy 
was  mildly  corrective. 

"I  invited  him,  and  he  has  telegraphed  acceptance." 

"Well,"  hesitated  her  niece,  uhe  did  not  telegraph 
me,  so  how  was  I  to  know?  And  I  promised  Tony — " 

"  Mrs.  Dacy  is  quite  right,"  said  Tony,  with  a  most 
virtuous  air.  "The  lilies  can  make  up  their  minds 
to  wait.  Someone  should  meet  Mr.  Sargent;  natu 
rally  it  would  add  to  the  joy  of  that  conquering  hero 
if  you  should  be  the  someone." 

The  young  lady  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Well,"  she  grumbled,  irritably,  "between  the  two 
of  you — " 

"Thank  you,  Tony,"  and  Mrs.  Dacy  beamed  on  her 
unexpected  assistant.  "  Elinor  does  not  seem  to  realize 
that  to  be  the  —  well,  one  may  say  the  help  and  inspira 
tion  of  a  man  like  McLane  Sargent  is  a  gift  of  Provi 
dence  not  to  be  trifled  with." 


130  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Mrs.  Wayne  stepped  out  on  the  veranda,  smiling 
down  on  Elinor  and  Anthony.  The  precise  tones  of 
Mrs.  Dacy  indicated  that  the  girl  was  the  recipient  of 
a  lecture,  though  the  cause  had  not  reached  her  ears. 
But  at  sight  of  her  Elinor  Mitford  laughed  skepti 
cally,  thankful  for  any  excuse  for  retort  When  her 
Aunt  Martha  dragged  in  Providence  as  the  clincher  to 
an  argument,  her  niece  usually  evoked  the  diabolical, 
and  the  sight  of  Monica  Wayne  reminded  her  of  the 
much-discussed  pictures. 

"  Inspiration,"  she  repeated,  mockingly.  "  Do  you 
know  the  real  inspiration  of  Lane  Sargent?  It's  the 
unknown  woman  who  made  the  drawings  for  that 
book!" 

"Elinor!" 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  a  woman,"  asked  Tony, 
banteringly,  "since  they  are  not  signed?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  interrupted  Elinor.  "I  know 
because  he  told  me.  You  remember  the  story  was 
published  as  a  novelette  in  a  magazine  without  illus 
trations.  It  made  a  big  hit,  and  an  unknown  artist 
sent  in  a  dozen  drawings,  giving  a  fictitious  name,  and 
stating  that  for  family  reasons  she  could  not  be  known 
as  the  illustrator.  Well,  you  can  imagine  how  both 
Lane  and  the  publisher  jumped  at  the  chance  of  those 
clever  drawings.  He  exchanged  letters  with  her,  all 
about  art,  of  course,  according  to  his  story.  I  fancy 
his  grew  rather  warm.  At  any  rate,  the  woman  put 
an  end  to  the  correspondence  by  telling  him  she  was  a 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  131 

married  woman.  I  never  saw  a  man  more  broken  up. 
If  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  be  in  love  with  the  mind 
of  a  woman  he  never  saw  then  Lane  Sargent  was  in 
love  with  that  woman.  He  was  in  a  blind,  swearing 
rage  at  being  tricked  by  her  like  that.  Oh,  he  is  will 
ing  to  accept  ordinary  folk  for  every-day  company,  but 
she  is  his  real  inspiration ! " 

"Elinor!"  and  Mrs.  Dacy  was  plainly  shocked  as 
the  words  came  tumbling  over  each  other  to  prove  that 
their  celebrity  was  but  common  clay  after  all.  As  she 
turned  away  she  added,  "I  trust  you  do  not  express 
those  exaggerated  ideas  to  anyone  else.  Tony,  don't 
take  her  seriously." 

"No,  Tony,  don't,"  and  Miss  Mitford  shrugged 
her  shoulders  at  both  of  them  and  started  at  a  swing 
ing  gait  to  the  stables,  with  Tony  doing  an  imitation 
trot  at  her  heels. 

Monica  Wayne  looked  after  them  with  a  wistful 
fondness  in  her  eyes.  How  wonderful  to  remain  as 
young,  as  impulsive,  and  care-free  as  those  two  had 
always  been.  That  was  the  beauty  of  having  had  a 
real  childhood,  and  thus  grow  by  degrees  into  the 
atmosphere  of  the  later  years.  And  by  contrast  how 
harsh,  how  tragic  was  her  own  girlhood,  thrust  for 
ward  into  the  maelstrom  of  volcanic  emotions  at  an 
age  when  happier  children  are  reading  and  dreaming 
of  fairy  tales,  and  the  waiting  maid  to  whom  the 
prince  comes. 

A  quick  sigh  touched  her  lips,  and  she  lifted  the  little 


132  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

book  from  the  chair  and  turned  the  pages,  smiling 
faintly  at  the  things  she  had  heard;  and  Hallet,  who 
had  been  watching  the  picture  she  made  against  the 
pink  glow  of  the  evening  sky,  came  forward. 

" Sargent's  novel?"  he  remarked,  glancing  down  at 
it  in  her  hand.  "  You  must  read  it.  Your  memories  of 
the  Mexican  country  should  make  it  of  interest  to  you; 
but  I  presume  those  childhood  recollections  have  grown 
a  bit  dim  after  the  glories  of  old  Spain." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  past  him,  and  for  a  brief 
moment  saw  again  that  childhood  of  which  she  would 
never  speak.  She  shivered  and  drew  the  lace  scarf 
about  her. 

uNo,  they  have  not  grown  dim,"  she  said,  simply. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  realized  that  in  some  un 
known  way  he  had  caused  her  to  put  up  the  wall  of 
reserve,  which  all  of  them  were  made  conscious  of  at 
times. 

'You  don't  seem  ever  really  to  need  humanity," 
he  said,  gently.  ;'  Yet  there  are  times  when  you  make 
me  feel  I  would  like  to  be  the  one  to  help  you.  You 
scoff  at  marriage  now,  but  some  day  some  man,  the 
right  man,  will  make  you  think  of  it.  Then  you  will 
want  no  barrier  of  the  law  between  you;  you  will  want 
to  be  free." 

"Who  is  freer  than  I?  The  only  bonds  about  me 
are  a  protection.  They  make  me  taboo  to  the  flirta 
tions  other  girls  are  doomed  to,  and  —  secure  me 
liberty  to  work." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  133 

He  smiled  at  her,  but  shook  his  head. 

"Suppose  a  day  should  come  when  work  does  not 
seem  the  only  thing  in  the  world?  You  will  want  to 
be  free  to  give  your  hand  where  the  heart  leads.  That 
sounds  extremely  sentimental  from  a  lawyer  to  a  client, 
but  —  think  of  it." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  nodded  her  head  without 
looking  at  him. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  murmured.    "  I  '11  —  think  of  it." 

She  walked  slowly  across  the  terrace  to  the  pergola, 
and  much  as  he  would  have  liked  to  walk  beside  her, 
he  felt  barred  out  and  stood  watching  her  and  watching 
some  birds  wheeling  above  her,  little  fluttering  gleams 
against  the  sky.  As  she  disappeared  in  the  screen  of 
the  vines  he  turned  away  and  noted  the  figure  of  the 
girl  Hettie  as  she  fairly  ran  up  the  path  and  towards 
the  side  entrance.  In  a  way  she  reminded  him  of  the 
low-flying  birds  darting  here  and  there  towards  shelter 
for  the  dark  to  come. 

But  the  birds  had  glad  little  calls  and  many  coquet- 
tings,  while  the  girl's  face  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  held 
nothing  of  gladness. 

"You  look  tired,  little  girl,"  he  said,  kindly,  and 
she  halted  and  looked  up  at  him  with  the  quick  color 
flushing  her  face. 

"It  is  a  steep  climb  from  the  Cove,  Mr.  Hallet," 
she  answered  with  a  little  nervous  fluttering  in  the 
throat,  "and  I  hurried  so,  yet  it  is  late  —  and — " 

Hallet  made  a  gesture  of  detention,  and  she  watched 


134  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

him,  wondering,  as  he  stepped  down  from  the  veranda 
and  walked  beside  her. 

"Hettie,  I  —  I  hear  that  your  grandfather  has  no 
steady  employment  beyond  the  trifling  work  for  Mrs. 
Wayne,  and  I  might  speak  for  him  to  some  boat-club 
friends,  if  you  think — " 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"I  wouldn't  dare  ask  you,  Mr.  Hallet  —  it  would 
only  make  trouble  for  you.  He  —  he  can't  keep  any 
place  steady  along  the  shore.  I  am  ashamed  to  tell 
you  —  but — " 

She  turned  her  head  away  to  hide  the  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  Hallet  found  himself  patting  her  on  the 
shoulder  with  never  a  suspicion  that  a  housemaid  with 
jealous  eyes  was  staring  at  them  from  the  window  of 
the  dining  room. 

"  There,  there,  Hettie,  don't  cry  about  it.  You  have 
a  serious  talk  with  him  and  let  me  know  results.  Per 
haps  among  strangers  he  might  do  better.  Here  is  one 
of  my  business  cards.  You  write  to  me  for  him;  we 
will  see  what  we  can  do.  Come  now,  cheer  up ! " 

The  girl  looked  at  him  so  gratefully  that  it  was 
embarrasing,  and  while  she  did  put  out  her  hand,  she 
uttered  no  actual  word  of  thanks,  but  he  understood, 
and  patted  her  hand  reassuringly. 

"That's  a  good  girl,  don't  cry,  cheer  up,"  he  added, 
and  then,  followed  by  her  almost  adoring  gaze,  took 
himself  around  to  the  front  of  the  house  as  quickly 
as  might  be.  Heavens !  why  should  a  young  thing  like 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  135 

that,  with  eyes  like  a  hurt  fawn,  have  to  carry  the  woes 
of  the  dissipations  of  age? 

In  his  haste  to  evade  her  thanks,  he  had  not  noted 
that  in  taking  out  a  pocketbook  for  his  card  he  had 
dropped  a  handkerchief  on  the  grass  at  the  feet  of  the 
girl.  She  stooped  and  lifted  it  as  if  it  had  been  a 
flower,  and,  holding  it  a  moment  in  both  hands,  thrust 
it  hurriedly,  secretly,  into  her  blouse,  and  turned  to 
enter  the  house  as  Mrs.  Dacy,  austere  and  indignant, 
stood  at  the  closed  door. 

"  Your  money  will  be  sent  you  tomorrow,"  she  said, 
coldly.  "  I  have  no  further  use  for  your  services." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dacy,  I  tried,  but  I  could  not  return 
earlier — I  had  to  find  him  —  I — " 

"And  you  may  give  me  that  card,"  continued  the 
shocked  lady.  "  I  cannot  employ  girls  who  waylay 
gentlemen  on  our  estate.  The  parlor  maid  tells  me  it 
has  occurred  before.  I  am  surprised  at  Mr.  Hallet." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dacy,  call  him  back,  ask  him  1 " 

"Ask  him  why  he  makes  appointments  with  you  — 
and  why  his  handkerchief  is  treasured  in  that  manner?  " 

The  girl  only  stared  at  her,  wordless,  but  her  hand 
crept  to  the  fold  of  the  blouse  where  the  handkerchief 
lay.  She  could  see  the  smiling  housemaid  looking  down 
on  them  from  the  window  and  recalled  some  petty 
jealousy  she  had  forgotten — yet  it  had  led  to  this  1 

"  I  have  seen  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy  as  she  turned 
away,  with  an  air  of  finality.  "  I  gave  your  mother's 
daughter  a  chance  when  no  one  else  would,  and  the 


136  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

result  has  been  what  every  one  expected.  I  trust  this 
will  be  a  lesson  to  you." 

Then  the  door  opened  and  closed,  and  the  girl  was 
alone.  She  stood  vaguely  staring  at  the  closed  door, 
as  if  striving  to  gather  courage  to  approach,  to  explain; 
but  the  sound  of  the  girlish,  care-free  laughter  came 
to  her  from  the  path  through  the  shrubbery,  the  voice 
of  Lulu,  and  with  a  gesture  of  despair  she  turned 
backwards  on  the  trail  to  the  Cove. 

Lulu's  voice,  high  and  clear,  came  to  her,  and  she 
was  speaking  to  McLane  Sargent. 

"I  should  have  known  you  anywhere  by  your  pic 
tures  in  the  paper,"  she  announced.  "  Was  n't  it  nice 
that  your  friends  in  the  yacht  brought  you  into  the 
very  cove  where  we  went  to  look  for  Mrs.  Wayne  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  he  agreed,  "  the  yacht  could  not  get  up 
quite  the  speed  of  a  train,  but  it  brought  recompense," 
and  he  smiled  down  in  her  eager  face.  "  I  did  not 
hope  to  find  a  water  nymph  at  the  shore  to  welcome 


me." 


"  We  would  all  have  been  down  if  we  had  known," 
declared  Lulu,  "wouldn't  we,  Joe?  Everyone  is 
daffy  over  your  new  book,  and  the  girl  in  the  pictures 
looks  like  Monica,  so,  of  course,  I  love  them." 

"Monica;  you  mean  Nell's  cousin?"  he  asked,  and 
then  through  the  pergola  he  caught  sight  of  a  slender 
figure  coming  towards  them.  "There  comes  Nell 


now." 


"Let's  hide,"  suggested  Lulu,  clutching  Sargent's 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  137 

arm  and  waving  Joe  to  the  rear.  To  please  her  Sar 
gent  halted  and  enjoyed  the  dimples  of  anticipation  as 
she  bent  forward  peering  through  the  shrubbery,  to 
pounce  on  Nell  as  she  came  abreast.  But  Sargent  from 
his  superior  height  could  see  over  the  mass  of  pink 
laurel,  and  at  first  glimpse  of  a  lace-draped  head  he 
made  a  slight  movement  forward,  then  stood 
astounded,  staring.  He  could  not  see  the  face,  as  it 
was  half  turned  away  and  uplifted,  watching  the  cir 
cling  birds,  and  walking  slowly  across  the  green,  nearer 
and  nearer,  to  the  hidden  three. 

"  It  is  not  Nell ! "  and  Sargent's  voice  was  almost  a 
whisper  through  doubt  and  wonder.  "It's  my  picture 
*  Woman  of  the  Twilight  M  " 

"It's  Monica,"  cried  Lulu,  rushing  forward,  ecstat 
ically.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  dearest  Monica ! " 

uMy  little  Lulu  —  not  so  little  now!"  and  Mrs. 
Wayne  held  her  off  to  note  the  growth  of  the  years,  and 
then  kissed  her  as  Sargent  and  Joe  came  forward — 
Sargent  with  at  least  half  his  soul  in  his  eyes  and  a 
strange  sense  of  having  heard  that  voice,  and  even 
looked  in  her  eyes  before. 

She  glanced  up,  and  Lulu's  chatter  was  unheeded  as 
she  sank  into  the  garden  seat,  and  the  book  she  carried 
slid  from  her  fingers  and  rested  on  the  grass. 

"This  is  Mr.  Sargent,  and  here  is  Joe,"  stated  Lulu, 
pulling  the  latter  forward.  "We've  all  been  daft 
over  his  new  book — I  don't  mean  Joe's  book." 

"  I  fear  I  must  have  appeared  daft  at  sight  of  you, 


138  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Madam  —  Mrs.  Wayne,"  Sargent  remarked.  uThat 
lace  mantilla  made  you  look  to  me  as  if  the  woman  of 
those  illustrations  had  walked  out  of  the  pages  of  the 
book  to  meet  us  in  Mr.  Dacy's  garden." 

"  Nell  imagined  there  was  a  resemblance,  due  I  fancy 
to  the  mantilla,"  and  she  drew  the  scarf  from  her  head 
and  folded  it  carefully.  That  little  bit  of  practical 
work  gave  him  time  to  scan  both  face  and  figure. 

"She  did  not  confide  her  imaginings  to  me,"  he 
observed,  "  and  it  is  more  than  the  mantilla.  May  I 
ask  if  you  have  any  artist  friend  —  a  woman  who 
possibly  made  the  drawings  for  the  book?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Lulu,  eagerly,  as  Joe  picked  it 
from  the  grass,  and  they  all  watched  with  interest  as 
she  turned  a  few  of  the  leaves  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Certainly  no  friend  of  mine  or  she  would  have 
signed  her  creations  and  avoided  trouble  for  me.  I  Ve 
had  to  account  for  the  shape  of  my  head  or  shoulders 
twice  within  an  hour.  For  really,  you  see  these  draw 
ings  are  merely  landscapes  with  the  human  note  only 
suggested;  there  is  no  real  portrait  of  a  woman  there 
to  compare  anyone  with." 

"  Yet  there  is  an  intangible  something  akin  to  you  in 
them.  It  gave  me  an  uncanny  shock  to  meet  you.  Your 
very  voice  sounds  as  I  knew  it  would  when  I  saw  you, 
yet — we  never  have  met — have  we?" 

u  Probably  not,  or  your  impressions  would  not  be  so 
vague,"  she  remarked,  ironically.  "  It  all  sounds  very 
nice  and  exciting,  but — " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  139 

She  smiled  politely,  yet  gave  him  the  impression  that 
she  was  easily  bored,  and  that  his  expressed  thoughts 
might  seem  a  trifle  fantastic  to  her. 

"The  desire  to  know  is  not  an  empty  curiosity  with 
me.  It  is  —  but  I  must  not  bore  you  with  my  reasons. 
I  understand  that  you  are  an  artist,  and — " 

"A  different  line  of  work,  entirely  different,"  she 
said,  amiably.  "  I  prefer  working  out  my  own  ideas 
to  illustrating  text." 

"Still,  you  will  appreciate  the  beauty  of  these  and 
understand  my  interest  in  the  maker  of  them." 

She  graciously  gave  her  attention  to  the  drawings, 
with  an  obvious  desire  to  please. 

"This  picture  material  is  very  good,"  she  agreed. 
"So  many  stories  suggest  no  pictures  and  make  hard 
work  for  the  illustrator;  but  this  material  is  unusually 
rich,  and  the  drawings  are  pretty." 

"  Pretty ! "  repeated  McLane  Sargent,  with  more 
than  a  little  of  surprise  as  he  looked  at  her.  Others 
had  raved  over  them,  and  in  the  cabin  of  the  yacht  he 
had  just  arrived  in  he  had  found  several  of  them 
mounted  and  pinned  to  the  wall  by  one  ardent  admirer. 
He  was  struck  sharply  by  the  contrast,  and  wondered 
if  Mrs.  Wayne  could  possibly  be  of  the  narrow  gauge 
workers  who  were  restricted  to  their  own  themes  and 
mediums. 

"To  me  they  are  much  more  than  merely  pretty," 
he  continued,  loyally.  "  They  have  done  more  to  make 
the  book  popular  than  the  little  story." 


140  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Oh,  everyone  likes  the  story,"  said  Lulu,  "  though 
I  am  not  allowed  to  read  it.  Mama  has  to  read  it 
first" 

Her  ingenuousness  made  them  laugh  and  cleared 
the  air,  rather  heavily  charged  by  the  dogged  per 
sistence  of  Sargent. 

"Well,  7  like  the  drawings;  some  of  them  are  little 
gems,"  and  he  turned  the  pages  eagerly.  u  Would  you 
call  that  ruined  dome  with  the  poppies  flaming  against 
the  deep  sky  merely  pretty?"  he  asked,  "or  the  moon 
rising  back  of  the  black  cliff  where  the  one  lone  figure 
stands  at  the  edge  above  the  sea?  or  the  deep  purple 
of  the  range  where  the  solitary  rider  is  the  one  far 
human  note?  and  the  skies  —  the  wonderful  tragic 
skies !  Can  you  find  these  merely  *  pretty '  ?  " 

"  I  find  them  magnificent,  if  it  please  you,"  she  said, 
half  laughing.  "  I  certainly  find  you  generous  to  your 
artist,  and  that  is  refreshing,  you  know !  The  troubles 
of  some  of  my  art  friends  are  many  when  they  fail  to 
see  things  as  the  writer  sees  them." 

"That  is  why  these  seem  so  wonderful  to  me,"  con 
tinued  Sargent,  looking  at  the  little  book.  "  The  artist 
revealed  to  me  much  that  was  vague  in  my  own  mind. 
She  took  the  plain  prose  I  wrote  and  lifted  it  into  a 
harmony  by  the  big  suggestion  of  the  illustrations.  The 
atmosphere  is  perfect,  more  perfect  than  any  I  put  into 
the  text;  it  is  and  will  always  be  —  a  marvel  to  me." 

George  Hallet  and  Hamilton  Dacy,  pacing  the 
veranda,  talking  and  smoking,  turned  the  corner,  and 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  141 

seeing  the  new  arrival,  met  Sargent,  and  in  the  greet 
ings,  and  in  the  chatter  of  Lulu  over  their  luck  in  see 
ing  him  first,  Monica  Wayne  remained  seated,  glancing 
idly  over  the  book  and  occasionally  noted  the  pretty 
picture  they  all  made  as  Nanny  Allen,  and  Gilman,  and 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  joined  them;  and  Hallet  detached 
himself  from  the  group  and  came  to  her  garden  seat, 
where  he  stood  with  folded  arms  looking  down  on  her 
judicially  and  quizzically.  She  smiled  back  at  him  with 
a  certain  comradeship  and  confidence. 

"May  I  hope  that  you  have  been  thinking?"  he 
asked. 

She  nodded  her  head,  still  smiling,  and  Sargent, 
watching  them,  lost  track  of  the  discourse  of  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville  for  a  moment,  and  realized  that  Hallet 
was  very  much  in  earnest  as  he  leaned  forward  eagerly 
for  the  next  question. 

"Is  it 'yes*—  or 'no'?" 

"  I  shall  not  touch  his  money,"  said  Monica  Wayne, 
softly,  "  but  I  have  almost  decided  it  will  be — '  yes '  !  " 

"  Monica ! "  and  Hallet's  hand  closed  over  hers  for 
a  moment — "I  should  say  Mrs.  Wayne  —  I  am 
delighted.  That  is  fine." 

Then  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  joined  them,  and  Gilman 
was  interested  in  the  account  of  the  yacht  trip  by  which 
Sargent  had  come  into  the  cove  after  making  the  circle 
of  Squaw  River. 

" It's  a  risky  trip  except  when  the  tide  is  just  right," 
he  stated,  warningly.  "  One  has  to  have  the  right  pilot 


142  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

for  that  sort  of  pleasuring.  I  Ve  got  a  dozen  good 
nautical  notes,  peculiar  ones,  from  just  one  circle  of  the 
island.  Did  you  miss  Nell  ?  " 

"  I  always  miss  Nell,1'  returned  Sargent,  lightly, 
glancing  about 

"She  went  to  meet  you  with  the  machine  — also 
Tony." 

"Tony?"  and  Sargent's  brows  went  up  in  quiet 
amusement.  Hamilton  Dacy  nodded  glumly.  He  was 
held  to  blame  for  Tony's  presence,  and  had  his  own 
troubles. 

Sargent  turned  directly  to  Tony's  quiet  little  sister, 
and  singled  her  out  for  special  attention  as  they  crossed 
the  terrace  to  greet  Mrs.  Dacy. 

"So  that  is  our  new  celebrity,"  cooed  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville,  scanning  his  tall  figure  through  a  lorgnette. 
"  Mrs.  Wayne,  are  you  duly  impressed  by  your  new 
cousin?  His  last  book  has  made  quite  a  furore  for 
such  a  little  thing.  It  really  has  less  than  two  hundred 
pages." 

Monica  Wayne  stared  at  her  wonderingly. 
"Cousin?"  she  repeated,  with  a  perplexed  frown. 

"Oh,  am  I  wrong?  I  understood  you  were  Nell's 
cousin  by  marriage."  Mrs.  Wayne  nodded  assent  to 
this,  but  said  nothing.  "Then,"  continued  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville,  "when  she  marries  Mr.  Sargent,  he 
also  will  be  a  cousin  by  marriage." 

"Nell!"  and  there  was  no  mistaking  the  sharp 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  143 

surprise  in  her  tone.  "You  mean  that  Nell  Mitford 
is  to  marry  McLane  Sargent?" 

"Haven't  you  heard?"  asked  Hallet.  "But  of 
course  not,  it  is  so  recent,  and  no  one  knew  where  to 
write  you." 

"But  —  I  thought  —  I  was  certain  that  Tony — " 

"  Oh,  they  quarreled,  for  the  ninety-ninth  time,  and 
quit  the  engagement.  That  is  an  old  story  now  —  and 
you  didn't  know?" 

Monica  Wayne  laughed,  and  drew  the  lace  scarf 
about  her  shoulders  and  arose. 

"Oh,  these  people!"  she  said,  in  smiling  irony, 
"they  are  so  constantly  in  love  —  and  constant  to  no 


one." 


As  she  crossed  the  veranda  steps  a  cry  from  Lulu 
halted  her,  and  she  saw  the  girl  run  to  the  window 
and  lift  something  tiny  from  the  grass. 

"Lulu!"  expostulated  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  "you 
are  so  excitable." 

"Oh,  oh!"  cried  the  girl,  in  real  distress,  "it  is  a 
dear  little  bird.  I  saw  it  fly  straight  against  the  win 
dow  and  fall  dead! " 

"  The  windows  beyond  made  it  fancy  all  was  open 
garden,"  volunteered  Oilman. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Nanny,  "it  could  not  see  the  glass." 

"But  the  glass  killed  it!"  sobbed  Lulu,  heart 
broken  over  the  little  tragedy. 

"No,  dear,  it  is  only  stunned,"  said  Mrs.  Wayne, 


144  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

reassuringly,  as  she  comforted  the  girl,  and  noted  the 
fluttering  of  the  little  stray,  "and  I  fear  its  wing  is 
broken." 

"Oh,"  breathed  Lulu,  hopefully,  "what  can  we  do 
for  it?" 

"You  can  let  it  go,"  stated  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
impatiently. 

"It  would  certainly  die  if  let  go  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Wayne,  holding  the  little  fluttering  stranger  against 
her  breast,  "but  we  may  find  a  cage  somewhere  about 
the  place,  and  you  could  try  keeping  it  until  the  wing 
is  well." 

Lulu  beamed  hopefully  at  the  plan,  but  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville  shrugged  her  shoulders  doubtfully. 

"  It  never  can  fly  so  well  again ! "  she  remarked, 
with  an  air  of  finality,  but  Monica  Wayne  smiled  a 
trifle  wistfully,  as  she  felt  Lulu's  hand  squeezing  her 
arm  in  joy  at  finding  a  practical  champion  for  her 
little  cripple. 

" It  never  can  fly  so  high  again,"  she  conceded,  "but 
it  may  gain  a  new  note  for  its  song,  and  —  it  may 
teach  its  sister  birds  to  avoid  treacherous  transparent 
walls." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Sargent,  doubtfully,  "if  its 
enlarged  experience  will  ever  make  amends  for  its 
crippled  wing?" 

Monica  Wayne  regarded  him  silently  for  a  moment, 
and  again  her  direct  gaze  gave  him  a  queer  little  shock 
of  familiarity,  as  if  in  some  life  of  far  away  he  had 


The  broken  wing 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  145 

known  her  very  well.  He  could  not  flatter  himself 
that  she  had  any  such  impression  of  him.  Her  direct, 
unsmiling  gaze  was  not  gracious;  it  had  a  questioning, 
measuring  quality,  and  left  him  tingling  under  a  new 
sensation. 

Gilman  was  busy  making  notes  in  one  of  his  sev 
eral  pretty  little  books,  and  the  others  were  so  amused 
at  him  that  they  did  not  even  see  that  long  look 
between  those  two  ere  she  turned  away,  leaving  him 
with  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  weighed  and  found 
wanting. 

Elinor  and  Tony  whirled  up  in  the  machine  just 
then,  and  he  drew  a  deep  breath  as  he  went  to  greet 
his  fiancee,  and  felt  grateful  for  her  frank,  outspoken 
comradeship.  He  told  himself  it  was  a  good,  healthy 
atmosphere  for  a  man  to  live  in.  There  was  nothing 
about  Nell  uncannily  suggestive  of  unseen  bonds  or 
former  knowledge  —  or  former  lives  —  which  was  it? 
And  Nell's  voice  gave  one  no  strange,  deep  thrills  as 
of  music  heard  through  some  long  forgotten  instru 
ment. 

He  wondered  why  no  one  had  told  him  all  these 
unexpected  things  about  Mrs.  Wayne.  He  had  heard 
of  her,  of  course.  The  family  had  all  expressed  their 
ideas  of  her  and  her  work  and  her  attitude  under 
various  influences,  yet  he  told  himself  that  none  of 
them  had  ever  given  him  an  idea  of  the  real  woman. 
It  was  puzzling.  His  host  and  party  were  all  of  the 
usual  type,  possible  to  duplicate  in  seventy-five  out  of 


146  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

every  hundred  cottages  along  the  shore.  It  was  merely 
a  matter  of  income  as  to  the  lives  they  lived. 

But  where  could  one  duplicate  Monica  Wayne,  who 
walked  through  the  laurel  thicket  from  the  Nowhere, 
and  looked  out  of  familiar  eyes,  faintly  smiling,  like  a 
dream  come  true? 

Dreams  should  stay  in  the  land  of  dreams  and  not 
step  out  of  the  mists  to  keep  pace  with  mortals ! 

He  told  himself  this  as  he  thanked  the  gods  for  the 
normal  flesh  and  blood  certainty  of  Nell,  who  was  too 
frank  and  outspoken  ever  to  pique  curiosity  or  suggest 
mystery. 

He  even  wondered  that  the  matter-of-fact  family 
accepted  so  gladly  this  outside  member,  who,  by  their 
own  showing,  was  not  at  all  frank  as  to  her  life  or 
movements.  Apparently  she  led  a  man's  life  instead 
of  a  woman's;  she  was  cordial  if  it  pleased  her,  but 
she  very  evidently  needed  none  of  her  husband's  fam 
ily,  was  dependent  upon  none,  and  accountable  to  none; 
for  which  reason,  as  he  could  perceive,  they  were  all 
more  or  less  at  her  feet.  Nell  so  openly  adored  her 
that  he  could  see  ahead  the  endless  days  when  he 
would  be  expected  to  admire  her;  and  he  resented 
already  the  fact  that  she  was  probably  too  self-centered 
to  praise,  as  others  did,  the  real  art  value  of  those 
drawings  in  the  little  book. 

Through  the  dinner  he  had  opportunity  to  observe 
her  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  where  she  bantered 
Gilman  concerning  his  notes  made  along  the  poverty- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  147 

stricken  Atlantic  coast  —  the  last  possible  place  in 
the  world  to  find  romance. 

"The  land  is  too  cold,  too  sterile  here,  to  feed  an 
imagination,"  she  declared.  "  You  come  over  some  of 
my  trails  to  Mexico.  Do  your  romance  of  some  old 
cathedral  town  among  the  palms,  where  the  serenade 
is  still  the  custom.  Can  you  fancy  songs  of  serenade 
either  here  or  in  Manhattan  at  any  stage  of  its  evo 
lution?  The  thing  is  beyond  imagination." 

"  I  have  my  own  doubts  as  to  romance  even  in 
Mexico,"  declared  Hamilton  Dacy,  "  else  how  did  you 
escape?" 

"That's  true,  Monica,"  agreed  Nell.  "We  won't 
allow  you  to  slander  our  land  of  the  fragrant  cod 
without  protest.  If  there  was  a  spark  of  romance 
down  there,  some  strenuous  bandit  would  have  kid 
napped  you,  and  you  would  be  hearing  your  serenades 
behind  barred  windows." 

"You  trust  me,  and  come  to  Mexico,"  said  Mrs. 
Wayne,  addressing  Gilman.  "You  will  find  joy  of 
life,  and  tragedy  of  life,  side  by  side  where  the  trail 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  not  spoiled  it.  There  are  still 
some  corners  where  the  old  pagan  life  exists.  Some 
day  I  am  going  back  to  it ! " 

"Pagan?"  repeated  Mrs.  Dacy,  incredulously. 
"After  all  the  money  spent  for  missionary  work?" 

"  Delightfully  pagan ! "  agreed  Mrs.  Wayne. 
"They  do  not  discard  the  gods  of  their  ancestors  even 
though  they  do,  out  of  policy,  accept  the  newer  com- 


148  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

mercial  religions  of  the  various  missions.  The  Mor 
mons  are  about  the  most  progressive  of  the  latter 
in  the  practical  things  of  life,  but  they  are  usually  of 
northern  peoples,  and  carry  no  glad  joy  of  life  with 
them.  They  always  made  me  think  of  the  Puritans." 

"  Monica ! " 

1  They  did,  Aunt  Dacy.  They  are  so  self-righteous 
they  make  one  savage.  As  a  child  I  always  preferred 
playing  with  the  little  Indians.  We  would  gather  flow 
ers  for  the  hidden  shrine  of  their  house  god,  and  go 
to  mass  afterward,  and  hear  the  padre  give  thanks  that 
the  Indian  false  gods  were  forgotten!  Even  a  child 
sees  those  colorful  contrasts  down  there  —  it  makes 
the  life  wider — more  worth  while.  You  come  down 
with  your  notebooks." 

"I  am  a  weak  young  thing,  and  easily  tempted," 
confessed  Gilman.  "  If  you  would  find  for  me  some 
where  an  artist  to  beat  the  illustrations  in  Sargent's 
4  Woman  of  the  Twilight1  I  will  start  tomorrow  and 
do  a  *  Woman  of  the  High-Noon/  and  put  him  in  the 
shade."  The  others  laughed,  and  Sargent  advised  him 
to  leave  nothing  vague  or  mystifying  in  the  story.  An 
author  who  did  not  spell  out  every  fact  clearly  left  a 
gate  open  for  queries,  and  nice,  lady-like  notes,  from 
nice,  idle  folks,  who  meant  to  help  genius,  but  really 
only  brought  added  trouble  to  the  morning  mail. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,"  stated  Gilman.  "  I  used  to  be 
loved  for  myself  alone,  now  I  am  sought  for  because 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  149 

I  am  a  friend  of  Sargent's;  and  the  things  the  dear 
girls  want  to  know  about  him  are  beyond  words ! " 

"Tell  us,  Gillie,"  begged  Miss  Mitford.  "I  want 
to  know  a  lot  of  things  myself,  and  I  don't  dare  ask. 
How  do  the  other  girls  go  about  it?" 

Whereupon  Gilman  made  promises  to  divulge 
secrets  on  the  morrow  if  she  would  journey  with  him 
in  the  car  across  the  moorland  and  afar  from  the 
ears  of  men. 

He  further  told  her  that  if  she  was  very,  very  good, 
she  could  ride  with  him  as  he  carried  Mrs.  Wayne 
home  in  the  moonlight. 

"I  don't  think  I  want  to  be  carried,"  said  Mrs. 
Wayne.  "  I  can't  see  reason  in  getting  out  a  machine 
for  that  short  distance,  but  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have 
you  walk  with  me." 

"  You  are  the  law,  Madame  Monica ;  but  how  would 
you  feel  if  I  snubbed  your  'half  rater'  like  that  if  you 
asked  to  give  me  a  sail?" 

"Oh,  that's  different!  A  boat  is  an  actual  neces 
sity  to  cross  the  water  at  any  point;  but  if  I  was  in 
bathing  dress,  and  needed  to  go  the  water  distance 
from  here  to  the  bungalow,  I  'd  ask  you  to  swim  with 


me." 


"  Declined  with  thanks,  kind  lady,"  he  said, 
promptly.  "  No  swimming  bouts  for  me  in  that  water, 
let  Tony  do  it." 

"  Never  again !    I  owe  my  precious  life  to  the  sons 


150  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

of  the  sea  who  picked  me  off  the  rocks  the  last  time 
I  went  under,"  said  Tony. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  lifting  a  warning  finger  to 
Monica  Wayne.  "Now  perhaps  you  will  listen  to 
me  and  give  up  that  crazy  sailing  alone  out  here.  It  is 
not  safe  —  anything  is  likely  to  happen  you." 

"Nothing  has,"  she  said,  reassuringly,  "and  you 
are  always  here  to  wade  out  and  lead  me  back." 

As  Hamilton  Dacy  had  a  horror  of  small  boats  and 
could  not  swim  a  stroke,  the  others  laughed  at  the 
suggestion,  and  as  they  filed  out  on  the  veranda  to 
watch  the  moon  rise,  he  suggested  that  he  call  on  her 
at  the  bungalow,  and  talk  over  the  terms  and  legal 
settlements  of  which  Hallet  had  spoken  to  her. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  as  if  she  had  forgot 
ten  the  subject,  and  then  smiled  a  trifle  wearily. 

"  Certainly,  come  over,  Uncle  Dacy,"  she  said, 
kindly,  "though  I  can't  promise  what  I  shall  discuss 
with  you;  certainly  not  settlements  —  but  come  over." 

Out  on  the  lawn  where  the  men  were  smoking, 
Tony  sauntered  over  to  Sargent,  who  was  pacing  alone 
by  the  pergola,  and  asked  for  a  light  for  his  cigar; 
receiving  it,  he  fell  into  step  until  they  reached  the 
pergola  where,  he  halted  squarely. 

"Surprised  to  find  me  here,  Sargent?"  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Sargent,  frankly;  "glad  to 
see  you." 

"I'm  not  so  civil,"  confessed  Tony.     "I've  been 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  151 

wondering  why  you  selected  this  particular  corner  of 
the  earth." 

"Shall  I  get  off?" 

"  It  wouldn't  do  a  bit  of  good,"  said  Tony,  shaking 
his  head.  "  She  'd  fancy  you  a  martyr,  and  then  she 
would  be  in  love  with  you  —  I  mean  Nell." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  and  Sargent's  amusement  was  ex 
pressed  in  his  tone.  "Well,  have  you  a  grudge  to 
settle?" 

"Not  the  slightest,"  said  Tony,  cheerfully,  "but 
it's  this  way:  Miss  Mitford  promised  to  marry  us 
both,  promised  me  first;  and  you  see  the  result  — 
changed  her  mind  1  I  'm  only  waiting  round  to  see  if 
she  won't  change  it  again.  I  don't  mean  to  take  any 
unfair  advantage,  you  know,  only  to  stay  in  the  race 
until  I  hear  her  wedding  march.  Understand?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Sargent,  smiling  at  the  situation, 
"but  if  she  objects,  I  may  have  to  ask  you  to  with 
draw." 

"She  won't  object,"  returned  Tony,  easily,  "she 
has  always  been  accustomed  to  extra  personal  attend 
ants,  and  —  I  might  as  well  be  one  of  them." 

"In  that  case  we'd  better  not  both  seem  to  neglect 
her  at  the  same  time,"  suggested  Sargent,  "  else  she 
might  throw  us  over  for  Gilman  or  Hallet — let's  go 
back." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  LITTLE  later  the  moon  came  up  out  of  the 
sea  while  the  afterglow  of  the  sun  yet  touched  the 
western  sky.  Elinor  Mitford  declared  it  was  selfish 
of  Gillie,  or  any  one  man,  to  plan  moonlight  walks 
alone  with  Monica.  She  elected  herself  as  chaperone 
and  stated  that  there  were  others  who  craved  moon 
light  walks  by  the  sad  sea  waves. 

To  Sargent  she  whispered  that  he  must  get  ac 
quainted  with  her  relatives,  and  had  better  begin  with 
Monica.  Then  after  pitching  pennies,  and  drawing 
straws,  to  arrange  the  party,  Oilman  with  Nanny  and 
Tony  Allen,  remained  with  Mrs.  Dacy,  while  the  rest 
strolled  out  along  the  shore  road,  and  Oilman,  watch 
ing  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  gather  up  her  fluffy  draperies, 
drew  Lulu  aside  and  told  her  confidentially  to  listen 
for  the  car  in  about  an  hour. 

The  flowering  shrubs  of  the  wild  growths  hedged 
the  road  like  a  miniature  jungle  of  bayberry,  sumac, 
grape  and  wild  sweet  pea;  the  fragrance  of  them  in 
the  night  met  the  salt  air  of  the  sea,  and  Sargent 
walked  beside  Monica  Wayne  and  was  content  to 
walk  in  silence  rather  than  utter  words.  Hamilton 
Dacy  walked  at  her  other  hand,  and  occasionally  tried 
to  make  conversation  without  succeeding  very  well. 

152 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


He  decided  that  Monica  was  tired,  and  they  should 
have  used  the  car. 

The  moon  was  touched  ever  so  lightly  by  fleecy  cur 
tains  of  drifting  white.  Jupiter  shone  royally  as  he 
moved  across  the  body  of  Scorpia,  and  Venus  trembled 
far  out  on  the  edge  of  the  world,  and  left  a  tiny  dot 
of  light  on  an  arm  of  the  sea. 

Earth  and  sky  was  a  harmony  exquisite  and  tender 
with  promise,  while  the  waves  thundering  into  the 
cove  below  them,  smashing  against  the  bulwark  of 
titanic  boulders,  was  a  threat  against  the  fragility  of 
the  mere  human  idlers  strolling  along  the  brink  of  the 
roaring  deep. 

"That  sea  is  tigerish  at  high  tide,"  declared  Mr. 
Dacy.  "  It  is  one  of  the  reasons,  Monica,  I  wish  your 
place  was  a  little  nearer  our  cottage,  then  we  could 
keep  an  eye  on  you  in  bad  weather." 

"  But  no  thoughtful  farmer-fisherman  took  the 
trouble,  some  fifty  years  ago,  to  plant  trees  in  the 
right  spot  nearer  your  cottage,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Wayne.  "I  am  thankful  to  him  every  summer  day. 
I  could  not  see  myself  living  on  a  treeless  shore." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Dacy  discoursed  on  the  way  in 
which  she  had  taken  an  old  rambling  farmhouse  and 
remodeled  it,  by  the  aid  of  much  concrete,  into  a  fair 
copy  of  an  old  Spanish-California  dwelling.  The  work 
was  barely  two  years  old,  and  looked  forty  because  of 
the  old  vines  and  trees. 

"The  fact  is,  Monica,  if  you  ever  wanted  to  put 


154  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

that  place  on  the  market,  your  ancient  mariner  would 
need  to  use  a  lawn  mower  and  pruning  shears,  it  looks 
almost  forlorn.  You  would  have  to  spruce  up." 

"Thanks,  Uncle  Dacy,  but  I  can't  imagine  it 
spruced  up.  I  have  worked  too  hard  to  keep  it  looking 
as  if  no  one  lived  on  it;  your  spruced  up  places  lack 
atmosphere." 

"  Atmosphere !  with  all  that  booming  at  your  door  ?  " 
and  he  pointed  an  accusing  finger  towards  the  restless 
sea.  Monica  Wayne  laughed  and  caught  his  hand. 

"Don't  call  it  'that'  in  such  a  tone,  Uncle  Dacy; 
it  is  my  lullaby,  it  is  just  near  enough  for  the  sound 
of  the  waves  to  rock  me  to  sleep  at  night,  and  reminds 
me  of—" 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  Sargent  could  not  tell 
whether  it  was  to  check  expression  of  her  remem 
brances  or  to  listen  to  the  group  ahead  of  them;  some 
one  was  singing,  and  Mrs.  Wayne  held  up  her  hand 
for  silence,  and  halted  to  listen. 

It  was  Elinor  Mitford,  whose  comforting  gift  was 
a  rather  well-trained  soprano  voice,  and  across  the 
moonlight  night  it  came  to  them  with  added  sweet 
ness,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  the  deep,  constant 
undertone  of  the  sea  — 

In  my  garden  of  sleep  where  the  poppies  are  spread, 

I  wait  for  the  living  alone  with  the  dead 

For  a  tower  in  ruins  stands  guard  o'er  the  deep 

At  whose  feet  are  green  graves  of  dear  women  asleep. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  155 

"Where  a  tower  in  ruins  keeps  guard  o'er  the 
deep,"  repeated  Sargent.  "  I  never  chanced  to  hear 
Nell  sing  that  before,  and  I  fancy  there  is  only  one 
place  in  the  United  States  to  which  all  of  that  song 
could  apply  —  sea-cliff,  poppies,  and  the  tower  where 
the  graves  are." 

"Of  course,  it's  on  the  other  coast?"  said  Mr. 
Dacy,  with  a  touch  of  irony. 

"Indeed  it  is,"  affirmed  Sargent;  "strange  how  one 
forgets  a  place  for  a  long  time,  or  thinks  he  does,  and 
all  at  once  it  begins  to  grow  on  him  again,  and  pull 
him  back." 

"Well,  if  you  did  go  back  you  would  probably 
write  now  a  very  different  sort  of  story  of  that  poppy 
farm  place  than  the  one  you  wrote  from  your  first 
impression." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"You  would  not  see  it  quite  the  same  way  —  differ 
ence  in  years  and  experience.  Go  back  in  five  years  and 
see  if  I  'm  not  right." 

Sargent  stared  at  him  a  moment,  and  recalled  the 
words  of  the  old  man  under  the  moorish  arches. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  had  even  read  the  story," 
he  observed. 

"Had  to,  too  many  curious  folk  asking  questions 
about  it.  And,  say,  I  Ve  just  solved  the  problem  of 


its  success." 


"Thanks,"  observed  Sargent,  "perhaps  you'll  en 
lighten  me." 


156  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"It's  the  youth  of  it,  the  daring,  critical  youth 
which  condones  nothing,  and  makes  no  compromise. 
Maturity  knows  compromises  are  a  necessity  of  life, 
but  that  thing  is  a  record  of  your  impressions  or  emo 
tions  when  you  were  ages  younger  than  you  are  now." 

"  Not  so  many  ages ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  actual  years,  but  young  in  your 
sympathies,  and  intolerant  of  compromises.  I  refer 
especially  to  your  drawing  of  that  man;  it  seems  a  true 
picture,  but  you  were  so  intolerant  that  it  is  difficult 
to  see  how  a  woman  could  have  made  sacrifices  for 
him.  He  might  have  had  some  likable  traits,  but  you 
could  not  concede  that — too  much  youth  and  too  much 
sympathy  for  the  woman.  People  seem  to  like  that 
combination  if  served  with  the  right  sauce.  But  you 
go  back  in  five  years ! " 

Did  they  love  as  I  love  when  they  lived  by  the  sea? 
Did  they  wait  as  I  wait  for  the  days  that  may  be? 
O  Life  of  my  life!  on  the  cliff  by  the  sea. 

The  voice  of  the  girl  singing  came  to  them  again, 
and  Sargent  made  no  reply  to  the  unexpected  criticism 
of  Dacy.  He  was  listening  to  the  song  and  looking 
at  the  girl  beside  him.  She  had  taken  no  apparent  in 
terest  in  the  discussion,  but  had  moved  a  little  apart, 
and  was  standing  on  a  great  boulder  at  the  edge  of 
the  cliff  looking  down  at  the  surf  dashing  into  white 
foam  in  the  moonlight.  She  was  so  slender,  so  girlish 
in  form,  that  she  suggested  a  gray  bird  poised  above 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  157 

the  crashing  sea.  Her  hands  were  clasped  behind 
her,  and  her  head  was  turned  away  from  him,  but  he 
could  see  she  was  listening  to  the  voice  — 

Brief  days  of  desire  and  long  dreams  of  delight, 
They  are  mine  when  my  poppy  land  cometh  in  sight, 

0  heart  of  my  heart !  where  the  poppies  are  born 

1  am  waiting  for  thee  in  the  hush  of  the  corn ! 

"This  moonlight  is  making  even  Nell  sentimental," 
observed  Dacy.  "  Monica,  you  give  me  the  creeps  the 
way  you  get  to  the  very  outer  edge  of  that  rock.  Some 
day  the  water  will  undermine  it,  and  then — " 

"  I  shan't  wait  that  long,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him 
over  her  shoulder,  "but  the  sea  is  wonderful  tonight, 
or  else  the  sky!  I  never  saw  it  quite  this  way  before. 
Let  us  go  and  get  Nell  a  guitar  from  the  bungalow  if 
she  is  impelled  to  bring  poppy  land  to  Massachusetts." 

She  walked  on  beside  Sargent  to  where  the  others 
were  singing  on  the  rocks,  and  while  they  did  not 
speak  with  each  other,  he  felt  again  her  mysteriously 
familiar  closeness.  At  times  he  felt  she  must  be  con 
scious  of  it,  else  why  was  her  speech  so  ready  for 
others,  and  only  silence  for  his  portion. 

He  felt  a  hesitation  in  walking  beside  her  into  her 
own  house,  a  curious  hesitation;  at  the  same  time  that 
he  unconsciously  resented  the  fact  that  the  others  ran 
pell-mell  up  the  broad,  shallow  steps,  as  a  middle-aged 
colored  woman  opened  the  door,  letting  the  light 
stream  out  from  a  wide  hall. 


158  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Nell  and  Hallet  were  in  the  lead,  followed  by  Lulu 
and  Joe,  and  Sargent  found  himself  escorting  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville,  who  was  lamenting  the  distance  they 
had  walked.  It  really  was  so  much  more  than  she  had 
expected  —  and  when  one  was  not  exactly  rugged. 

And  it  was  thus  he  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
house  of  Monica  Wayne. 

"  How  unusual ! "  murmured  his  charge,  as  they 
passed  from  the  hall  into  a  great  living  room.  Then, 
with  a  little  smile,  she  added,  "  If  not  duly  impressed 
by  the  fact  that  the  lady  is  a  genius,  one  might  say 
'how  peculiar! ' ' 

In  fact  the  interior  of  the  house  had  unexpected 
character,  half  Spanish  where  dividing  walls  had  been 
replaced  by  pillars  supporting  pointed  arches,  the  lines 
of  which  were  echoed  by  the  windows  to  the  north. 
They  flanked  the  great  open  fireplace,  reaching  to  the 
floor,  and  through  them  the  wide  stretch  of  water  and 
wild  shore  could  be  seen  bathed  in  the  mellow  light  of 
the  moon. 

Candles  were  lit  on  the  mantel  and  in  sconces  of  the 
pillars  by  the  colored  woman,  greeted  cheerily  by  Nell 
as  Maum  Rosa;  and  the  soft  light  showed  that  the 
grayish  green  plaster  of  the  walls  was  but  a  frame 
for  some  wonderful  color  combinations  in  the  Mexican 
rugs  on  the  floor  and  couches  and  the  rich  Indian  brown 
of  pottery  and  the  occasional  white  and  red  and  gray 
of  scrape  or  belt  of  primitive  tribes.  On  the  walls 
were  few  pictures  —  all  of  them  rather  fine  sketches  in 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  159 

pastel  of  old  Mexican  cathedrals,  and  occasionally  an 
equally  fine  drawing  of  some  of  the  sacred  shrines  of 
Yucatan.  Before  one  of  them  Sargent  halted  in  ad 
miration —  a  great  temple  in  the  midst  of  a  tropic 
wood.  Carved  serpents  guarded  the  magnificent  stair 
way,  and  the  statue  of  a  god  of  an  ancient  people  lay 
broken  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"The  others  are  beautifully  done,  but  this  is  tragic," 
he  observed.  "All  modern  America  has  nothing  to 
compare  to  the  architecture  of  this  forgotten  people." 

"They  are  all  the  work  of  my  father,"  said  Mrs. 
Wayne,  "  also  this  collection  of  things  Mexican  was 
his;  only  the  house  was  arranged  by  me  for  their 
keeping." 

"It  is  a  fitting  shrine,"  he  answered.  "One  leaves 
all  the  prosaic  world  at  the  threshold." 

She  inclined  her  head  slightly  in  acknowledgment  of 
the  compliment,  but  that  was  all.  He  wondered  if  her 
cool  courtesy  was  deliberate  and  personal,  or  if  she 
was  merely  shy.  He  could  fancy  it  being  the  latter, 
and  regarded  her  with  renewed  interest.  After  all,  she 
was  only  a  schoolgirl,  and  her  position  was  such  that 
the  social  world  must  as  yet  be  a  sealed  book  to  her. 
The  many  volumes  in  the  bookcases  showed  her  to  be 
a  student  in  other  matters  than  art,  but  if  books  and 
paints  were  her  only  companions  it  would  explain  much. 

Yet  what  right  had  a  girl  with  a  face  like  hers  to 
bury  her  youth  in  musty  tomes?  Her  eyes  under 
their  straight  brows  were  ever  baffling  to  him  —  and 


160  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

her  mouth  —  what  a  fool  the  man  Wayne  must  have 
been ! 

Thoughts  of  this  sort  are  most  unprofitable,  and  see 
ing  Nell  regard  him  quizzically,  he  left  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville  to  Dacy,  and  went  over  to  her.  She  was  tuning 
an  old  guitar  on  which  were  the  red,  green  and  white 
ribbons  of  Mexico. 

"You  sang  beautifully,  little  girl,"  he  said,  ap 
provingly,  and  she  glanced  up  at  him  saucily. 

"Much  good  it  did  do  me,"  she  retorted,   "you 


never  came  near." 


At  his  attempted  explanation  she  only  laughed  and 
handed  him  the  guitar. 

"Monica  has  gone  to  look  for  some  Spanish  or 
Indian  music.  I  am  horribly  jealous  of  Fannie  Smith, 
but  you  can  sing  to  her  until  I  come  back.  I  want  to 
speak  to  Monica  —  you  amuse  these  children." 

She  found  Maum  Rosa  in  the  kitchen  arranging 
some  glasses  on  a  tray,  and  stopped  long  enough  to 
sniff  the  perfume  of  mint  approvingly. 

"  Miss  Mona  gone  to  her  own  room  a  moment,  I 
reckon,"  volunteered  Maum  Rosa.  "Yes,  she  found 
that  music  stuff  for  you  all.  I  reckon,  Miss  Elinor, 
she 's  been  havin'  a  right  vigorous  day,  an'  is  all  tired 


out." 


There  was  a  suggestion  in  her  tone  that  the  guests 
allow  Miss  Mona  a  moment  of  rest,  which  Miss  Mit- 
ford  mentally  agreed  was  all  right  for  the  others  — 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  161 

but  she  was  simply  dying  to  see  Monica  alone,  and 
of  course  Monica  would  not  mind  her! 

So  she  ran  up  the  stairs,  and,  finding  the  door  ajar, 
and  the  light  of  a  candle  sending  a  bar  of  brightness 
across  the  hall,  she  opened  it  without  knocking  and 
found  Monica  Wayne  standing  at  the  open  window 
looking  out  at  the  sea. 

The  sheets  of  music  were  in  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her,  and  the  sound  of  the  sea  coming  in  the  open  win 
dow  kept  her  from  hearing  the  sound  of  steps  until  a 
hand  was  slipped  into  hers,  when  she  turned  with  a 
startled  cry. 

"Nell!"  she  breathed,  and  sat  down;  then  added, 
limply,  "  I  'm  glad  it  was  you." 

"Thanks,  many,"  said  Nell,  "but  what's  the  mat 
ter  with  you?  You  're  a  bundle  of  nerves.  I  'm  dying 
to  talk  with  you  about  a  thousand  things,  but  of  course 
I  couldn't  with  Fannie  Smith  along!" 

"No,"  assented  Mrs.  Wayne,  "of  course  not.  I  — 
I  found  some  of  the  music.  It  is  rather  roughly  done 
—  I  took  down  the  notes  myself  and  I  am  not  dis 
tinguished,  you  know,  in  a  musical  way." 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  there  was  a  false  note.  Nell 
sensed  it,  and  agreed  mentally  with  Maum  Rosa  — 
Monica  was  tired.  She  would  start  the  party  home  as 
soon  as  might  be. 

"  I  '11  learn  the  songs,  and  sing  them  for  you  some 
other  time,"  she  said.  "What  is  this  —  an  Aztec  love 


162  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

song  ?    Really  Aztec  ?    What  a  pretty  title  !  — *  Within 
My  Dreams.' " 

And  by  the  candle  light  she  hummed  over  the  air 
while  the  other  girl  sat  silent,  looking  out  at  the  rest 
less  sea. 

Within  my  dreams  thou  art  with  me 
Though  free  my  life  may  range  afar. 
Within  my  dreams  my  spirits'  sea 
Throbs  warm  beneath  one  glowing  star. 
Though  wide  you  range  the  forest  through 
I  wake  with  thee,  deep  in  my  heart  I  rest, 
When  trembles  in  my  ear  the  turquoise  blue 
I  know  it  is  thy  heart  within  my  breast ! 
Within  my  dreams  thou  ever  art  with  me, 
E'en  waking  dreams ! 
O  Love!  within  my  dreams! 

"  Say,  Monica,  if  you  ever  took  time  to  fall  in  love, 
you  'd  know  that  Indian  song  writer  had  been  there 
before  you,"  announced  Nell,  "but  of  course  you 
never  did." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  assented  Monica  Wayne 
again.  "Shall  we  go  down  now?" 

"  But  Monica !  You  should  know  I  am  dying  to 
talk  about  Lane  Sargent,  and  tell  you  how  it  happened. 
Haven't  you  any  curiosity  at  all?" 

"  I  really  don't  believe  I  have  a  great  deal,  Nell," 
agreed  her  hostess,  "  and  you  can  tell  me  any  time 
about  the  man  who  happens  to  be  the  center  of  the 
universe  just  now." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  163 

"  Monica,  you  don't  like  him !  "  and  the  voice  of  her 
visitor  was  charged  with  utter  disappointment,  "and 
I  had  counted  on  you  so  much  —  so  much! " 

"  My  dear  Nell,"  said  Monica  Wayne,  putting  her 
arms  around  the  girl  who  had  dropped  down  on  the 
window  seat  beside  her,  "  if  you  are  in  love  with  the 
man,  as  your  insight  into  the  psychology  of  the  Aztec 
love  song  would  suggest,  why  should  you  care  in  the 
least  whether  any  one  else  approved  of  him  or  not? 
While  you  concede  I  can't  take  time  for  those  emo 
tional  lapses,  I  can  at  least  imagine  that  an  affair  of 
love  is  between  two  people,  and  that  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  is  unimportant,  and  the  opinion  of  the  world  is 
not  worth  even  a  smile." 

Nell  Mitford  sat  up  suddenly  and  looked  at  her 
as  she  sat,  serene  and  cool,  in  the  mingled  light  of  the 
candle  and  the  moon. 

"That's  all  right,  Monica,"  she  agreed.  "We  all 
have  moments  when  we  feel  like  that,  though  I  can't 
see  how  you  know  it;  but  the  rest  of  the  time  we  have 
to  remember  certain  conventions  and  incomes  —  first, 
last,  and  all  the  time  — incomes !  Lane  Sargent  would 
be  a  fine  catch  on  his  family  alone  for  any  heiress,  but 
I  don't  chance  to  be  an  heiress.  We've  been  chums 
for  ages,  but  he  could  not  have  afforded  to  propose  to 
me  unless  he  had  something  besides  name,  and  I  could 
not  afford  to  accept  him  if  he  had  not  an  income  along 
with  the  name !  It 's  all  right  for  you,  Monica,  to  be 
superior  to  the  dollars  and  cents  —  you  are  a  sort  of 


164  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

free  lance  in  search  of  art.  But  the  rest  of  us  who  are 
not  artists  have  to  fill  our  lives  with  other  things,  and 
we  can't  afford  to  ignore  folks  and  family.  I  do  need 
to  know  that  people  approve  —  it  braces  one  up  in  — 
in  many  ways." 

"Does  the  poor  child  need  bracing  up  already?" 
and  there  was  a  little  mocking  note  in  Monica  Wayne's 
voice.  "As  you've  been  engaged  most  of  your  life 
to  some  nice  boy — is  this  the  third  or  fourth  victim? 
I  should  imagine  you  were  impervious  to  the  opinion 
of  mere  relatives." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  reproachfully,  and  pettishly 
tapped  her  white  shoe  on  the  Indian  rug. 

"I  did  hope  for  something  better  from  you, 
Monica,"  she  declared.  uThe  others  were  just  nice 
boys,  that  is  what  makes  the  difference.  Half  the  time 
I  am  so  proud  of  Lane  I  want  to  shoot  off  fire  crackers, 
or  wave  a  flag  to  celebrate;  and  the  other  half  I  am 
scared  to  death  to  be  left  alone  with  him." 

"  I  should  not  imagine  him  so  formidable." 

"He's  not.  He  is  the  dearest,  nicest  fellow  ever, 
and  when  we  were  merely  chums,  we  were  thick  as 
thieves ;  too  jolly  for  words.  I  went  to  him  with  all  my 
woes,  and  learned  one  or  two  of  his.  It  was  fine, 
simply  ideal." 

"Well?" 

"Well,"  repeated  the  other  defiantly,  "now  that 
we  are  engaged  I  —  well  —  I  come  to  you  to  be  braced 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  165 

up,  and  I  don't  know  who  he  goes  to !  I  only  hope 
he  finds  some  one  more  sympathetic." 

Monica  Wayne  laughed,  and  drew  Nell  to  her, 
shaking  her  as  she  would  a  playful  kitten. 

uOh,  you  people!"  she  said,  derisively.  "You  are 
all  such  spoiled  children,  surfeited  with  sweets.  I  can 
didly  think  that  your  present  woes  are  limited  to  the 
fear  that  the  latest  man  may  call  a  halt  on  your  flirta 
tions.  You  can't  rule  him  as  you  did  Tony." 

"I  said  you  weren't  sympathetic,"  retorted  Nell, 
accusingly,  abut  I  did  count  a  lot  on  you  and  Lane 
taking  to  each  other,  and  you  don't  at  all! " 

"  What  an  idea !" 

"Can't  I  see?  You  look  over  him,  and  across 
him,  every  place  but  at  him.  And  you  know,  he  is  n't 
used  to  that;  I  have  seen  him  a  dozen  times  this  eve 
ning  staring  at  you  —  puzzled  beyond  words  —  and 
you  two  could  have  so  many  interests  in  common  if 
you  would  only  be  nice." 

"  My  dear,  I  fear  that  niceness  is  not  my  strong 
point,"  said  Monica  Wayne,  a  trifle  wearily,  "and  I 
have  several  things  to  do  besides  trying  to  make  a 
good  impression  on  your  latest  sweetheart." 

"You  wouldn't  have  to  try,"  asserted  Nell,  stoutly. 
"All  you  need  do  is  be  your  own  dear,  natural  self, 
as  you  were  last  summer  with  Tony,  who  adores  you." 

"Does  he,  indeed?"  queried  Mrs.  Wayne,  smiling. 
"  Since  he  is  his  own  man  again,  I  presume  I  dare 
confess  that  his  affection  is  most  ardently  returned?" 


1 66  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Elinor  Mitford  got  up  abruptly,  straightened  her 
skirt,  and  adjusted  the  bandeau  of  blue  ribbon  about 
her  fluffy  blonde  hair. 

"  Monica,  you  are  a  devil  when  you  are  not  a  dear," 
she  observed. 

Monica  Wayne  laughed  outright. 

"  Which,  being  interpreted,  means  that  you  want 
both  those  lovely  creatures,  but  want  me  to  take  either 
one  of  them  off  your  hands  occasionally,  while  you 
flirt  with  the  other !  I  love  you  dearly,  Nell,  but  I  'm 
too  busy  to  look  after  your  men  folks.  I  can't  half 
look  after  my  own." 

"Yours!"  echoed  the  girl,  scornfully.  "You'd 
seem  more  human  if  you  did  look  after  some  of  them, 
and  it  might  cultivate  your  sympathies." 

"With  true  love?"  asked  the  other,  mockingly  — 
"the  wonderful  true  love  of  your  summer  circus  set! 
Nell,  you  all  seem  to  me  pretenders,  playing  the  game 
for  pastime  or  to  fit  in  some  social  scheme.  Not  red 
blood  enough  in  the  whole  group  to  get  up  a  revolution 
against  convention,  unless  we  except  those  two  children 
out  there,"  she  added,  as  they  saw  Lulu  and  Joe  run 
down  the  walk  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Well,  I  like  that,"  observed  Nell.  "  Of  all  women, 
for  you  to  talk  true  love  and  red  blood,  and  emo 
tionalism  in  marriage — you!" 

"  I  was  younger  than  Lulu,  I  did  not  know,"  said 
Monica  Wayne,  simply;  "also,"  she  added,  "I  had 
little  choice.  It  may  seem  odd  to  you,  but  I  did  not 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  167 

know  a  single  American  woman  to  whom  I  could  speak. 
I  had  only  known  men,  and  some  Mexican  and  Indian 


women." 


"What  a  cat  I  am!"  said  Nell,  remorsefully;  "and 
what  an  awful  situation!  You  know,  Monica,  you 
never  have  told  any  of  us  even  that  much  before." 

"  Have  n't  I  ?  Perhaps  there  seemed  no  reason  why 
I  should.  No,  it  did  not  seem  to  me  awful.  I  am  as 
much  a  fatalist  as  an  Indian.  It  is  all  a  part  of  the 
training  for  some  game,  and  we  never  know  what  the 
game  may  be.  Only  the  gods  see  the  end  of  the  race !  " 

"O  you  pagan!"  and  the  girl's  arm  slipped  about 
her  affectionately.  "  Come  on  down,  or  the  rest  will 
hate  me  for  keeping  you  away.  I  shall  immediately 
take  Lane  out  to  the  most  romantic  corner  I  can  find 
in  this  nookery  of  yours,  and  sing  that  Aztec  love  song 
to  him  just  to  let  you  see  we  can  be  romantic." 

"Yes,  if  you  try  hard  enough,"  said  Monica 
Wayne,  as  they  went  down  the  stairs  together. 

Maum  Rosa  came  in  with  a  tray  of  tinkling  glasses, 
but  McLane  Sargent  was  not  there  either  to  accept 
this  offering  or  listen  to  Nell's  song.  He  had  wan 
dered  out  along  the  cliffs  or  under  the  old  trees;  and 
Nell,  with  a  smiling,  defiant  glance  at  Mrs.  Wayne, 
took  his  glass  and  the  Aztec  song  and  started  in  search 
of  him.  She  looked  around  for  the  guitar,  but  Lulu 
had  confiscated  that,  and  the  soft  clear  notes  of  a  fan 
dango  came  to  them  occasionally  above  the  subdued 
roar  of  the  breakers.  The  one  musical  love  of  Joe 


1 68  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

was  a  banjo  for  choice  or  a  guitar  for  second  place. 

"It  sounds  rather  pretty,  doesn't  it?"  asked  Mrs. 
Wayne  of  Hallet,  as  they  crossed  to  the  door  to  listen, 
and  then  stepped  outside.  But  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville 
was  plainly  annoyed  each  time  the  high  sweet  notes 
reached  her  where  she  sat  by  the  window  with  Mr. 
Dacy,  sipping  the  refreshing  liquid  from  the  slender 
mint  crowned  glass. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Dacy,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  shall  have 
to  ask  your  assistance  while  here  in  regard  to  Lulu. 
She  is  incorrigible  when  your  nephew  is  around,  just 
a  wild  tomboy.  On  the  other  side  I  must  say  she  was 
a  trifle  more  subdued,  it  is  so  necessary  in  order  to 
have  a  girl  advantageously  settled  in  life." 

"Joe  will  not  interfere  with  your  matrimonial 
plans,"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  reassuringly.  "He  has  no 
money  of  his  own,  and  little  interest  in  anything  except 
fishing  tackle." 

"  But  the  girl  has  a  perfect  mania  for  ineligibles," 
sighed  her  stepmother,  "  and  her  manner  is  growing 
more  unrestrained  each  day  since  our  return  to  Amer 
ica —  so  lacking  in  repose!" 

"  Oh,  she  has  plenty  of  time  to  acquire  repose,"  sug 
gested  Mr.  Dacy,  easily,  "and  don't  you  really  feel 
that  sixteen  is  rather  young  to  consider  marriage  for 
Lulu?" 

"  Not  at  all."  The  decision  of  the  reply  noted  that 
the  mint-flavored  refreshment  brought  by  Maum 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  169 

Rosa  had  quite  aroused  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  from  her 
customary  languor.  "I  was  married,  the  first  time, 
at  sixteen.  Girls  become  entirely  too  independent  if 
allowed  to  range  much  longer." 

"But  her  education — " 

"A  resident  governess  or  social  secretary  can  teach 
a  woman  all  a  wife  need  know  in  order  to  manage  an 
establishment.  I  don't  in  the  least  approve  of  col 
leges  for  girls  —  teaches  them  to  know  more  than  their 
husbands!  No,"  she  added,  emptying  the  glass  of 
which  he  relieved  her,  "I  will  allow  no  sentimental 
nonsense  to  upset  my  plans  for  Lulu.  She  has  a  won 
derful  opportunity,  and  I  shall  see  that  she  accepts  it. 
The  man  is  perfectly  infatuated  with  her  ingenuous 
ness.  But — "  (and  she  sighed  regretfully)  "he  made 
a  mistaken  marriage,  and  a  divorce  is  being  arranged. 
As  soon  as  it  is  settled  we  leave  for  the  other  side." 

George  Hallet,  standing  in  the  doorway,  looking  out 
on  the  moonlit  sea  with  Monica,  and  listening  to  the 
strains  of  the  guitar,  could  not  but  hear  also  bits  of 
the  conversation  within,  and  he  grew  alert,  a  big 
wrinkle  between  his  brows.  Monica  Wayne,  finding 
some  slight  remark  of  hers  unheeded,  glanced  at  him, 
and  realized  that  he  had  forgotten  her  and  was  listen 
ing —  actually  listening — to  the  words  of  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville. 

Amused,  she  was  about  to  reenter,  when  he  put  his 
hand  on  her  arm  with  a  slight  gesture  of  detention, 


170  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

and,  surprised,  she  stood  silent  in  the  doorway  as 
Mr.  Dacy  asked  with  an  evident  desire  to  appear  inter 
ested  in  the  much-desired  son-in-law. 

"And  what  does  Lulu  say  to  this  pearl  of  a  hus 
band  you  have  selected  for  her?" 

"  Oh,  part  of  the  time  she  was  flattered  by  his  atten 
tions —  and  no  wonder,  his  place  is  a  palace!  —  and 
at  other  times  pretended  she  did  not  like  him;  all 
romantic  nonsense,  of  course,  or  else  a  clever  trick  to 
interest  him,  and  he  certainly  was  quite  infatuated  with 
her.  Not  like  him ! "  and  her  tone  was  skeptic  to  a 
degree.  "  Why,  the  man  has  all  kinds  of  money,  and 
as  her  guardian  I  shall  see  that  she  acts  sensibly,  and 
marries  him." 

Monica  Wayne  pushed  aside  the  detaining  hand  of 
Hallet  and  stepped  past  him  into  the  room  as  Nell  and 
Sargent  came  up  the  path.  They  had  halted  in  the 
shadow  for  an  instant  regarding  the  man  and  woman 
standing  so  close,  with  hands  touching.  It  looked  quite 
sentimental  and  made  them  each  recall  Hallet's  im 
pressive  manner  to  her  on  the  lawn  and  in  the  cot 
tage.  Could  it  be  that  Hallet,  good,  safe,  steady- 
going  Hallet,  had  really  a  chance? 

Nell  looked  up,  smiling  into  Sargent's  face,  hoping 
for  comprehension  and  sympathy;  but  he  did  not  seem 
in  the  least  interested  in  the  possible  love  affair  which 
she  hoped  might  become  a  fact.  His  eyes  were  on 
Hallet,  a  cool,  measuring  gaze,  as  Monica  Wayne 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  171 

brushed  past  him  and  went  direct  to  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville. 

"  I  heard  your  words,"  she  said,  eagerly,  earnestly. 
"I  —  pardon  me  for  speaking  —  but  I  do  not  think 
you  can  realize  quite  what  it  means  to  marry  little 
Lulu  to  a  man  for  whom  she  has  no  real  liking;  she 
is  such  a  child,  and  childhood  is  so  wonderful,  let  her 
keep  it !  It  is  worth  more  than  the  money  or  the  palace 
of  any  man,  and  it  can  never  be  bought  back." 

Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  regarded  her  with  satirical, 
lifted  brows. 

"The  idea  is  very  pretty,  Mrs.  Wayne,"  she  con 
ceded,  sweetly,  "but  you  artists  are  not  always  prac 
tical.  Society  has  to  be,  and  someone  has  to  see  that 
girls  marry  the  right  men." 

"But  Lulu  is  such  a  child—" 

"And  a  very  difficult  one  to  manage,"  added  the 
other.  "The  sooner  she  is  safely  married  the  better, 
and  her  position  as  the  lady  of  Castlemar  will  be  so — " 

Monica  Wayne  interrupted  her  with  a  sharp  cry. 
She  stood  suddenly  very  erect,  and  all  the  tones  of  per 
suasion  or  conciliation  were  gone  from  her  voice. 

"  Castlemar! "  she  repeated,  and  Nell  gasped  at  the 
force  of  the  utterance,  while  Mr.  Dacy  got  to  his  feet 
bewildered.  "You  mean  to  marry  little  Lulu  to  the 
man  who  has  bought  the  estate  of  Castlemar  on  the 
Italian  coast?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  and  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  re- 


172  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

garded  her  hostess  with  startled  and  somewhat  resent 
ful  eyes. 

But  Monica  Wayne  made  no  reply  to  her.  She 
flung  out  accusing  hands  to  the  two  men  in  the  room. 

"  Uncle  Dacy,  did  you  know  of  this? "  Dacy  shook 
his  head  in  protest,  but  she  scarcely  heeded  it,  as  she 
turned  to  the  younger  partner.  "  Mr.  Hallet,  do  you 
hear?  You  want  me  to  divorce  that  man  so  he  may 
ruin  the  life  of  a  child  I  love,  the  daughter  of  a  man 
who  loved  me !  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  I 
will  divorce  your  master  of  Castlemar  on  one  condi 
tion  and  one  only  —  that  he  marries  the  woman  with 
whom  he  left  America ! " 

Mr.  Dacy  looked  as  bewildered  as  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville,  who  demanded  sharply: 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  the  woman  in  Europe 
was  not  his  wife?" 

Again  her  question  was  to  Mrs.  Wayne,  who  made 
no  reply. 

"A  marriage  of  the  left  hand,"  said  Hallet,  sig 
nificantly,  and  the  questioner  threw  up  her  hands  with 
an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"Oh,  the  horrid,  brazen  creature!" 

" But  you  would  not  shrink  from  the  man"  said 
Mrs.  Wayne,  turning  to  her  with  a  strange  smile.  "  I 
think  most  people  know  that  she  was  not  a  bad 
woman.  She  gave  up  her  world,  her  family,  every 
thing,  for  her  devotion  to  that  man.  I  pity  her  in 
finitely!" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  173 

"Pity I"  gasped  the  astounded  lady  whose  palace 
of  dreams  was  crumbling  about  her  at  every  sentence, 
"pity  her,  you,  the  woman  who  has  the  legal  right  to 
the  position  she  held  —  the  wealth  —  the  luxury!  "  and 
her  eyes  wandered  vaguely  over  the  simply  furnished 
room,  and  its  simply  gowned  mistress.  'You  pity 
her  —  oh  —  and  her  diamonds !" 

"  She  has  more  right  to  them  than  I,"  said  Monica 
Wayne,  indifferently. 

"Monica!"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  severely. 

"You  are  his  wife!"  reminded  Hallet,  but  Monica 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  the  same  strange 
little  smile. 

"  But  she  was  the  woman  who  loved  him,"  she  said, 
quietly,  "and  that  should  make  a  difference,  Uncle 
Dacy." 

The  sweet  notes  of  the  guitar  sounded  above  the 
murmur  of  the  sea,  and  far  down  the  road  could  be 
seen  the  light  of  Oilman's  car  as  he  sped  through  the 
moonlight. 

And  Elinor  Mitford,  clutching  Sargent's  arm  in 
nervous  excitement,  drew  him  in  silence  from  the  por 
tal  into  the  dusk  of  the  shadowy  trees. 

"  Now  you  know,  Monica ! "  she  whispered.  "  Do 
you  wonder  that  I  love  her?" 

But  he  evidently  had  no  opinion  on  the  subject, 
for  he  did  not  reply. 


CHAPTER  VII 

>T^HE  next  day  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  was  confined 
•*•  to  her  room,  ill  from  nervous  shock,  and  Mrs. 
Dacy  realized  that  all  her  work  for  secrecy  as  to  the 
Glyndon  Waynes  was  love's  labor  lost;  in  one  short 
hour  Monica  had  made  the  most  and  the  worst  of  it. 

Sargent  surprised  his  fiancee  by  the  suggestion  that 
they  get  married  at  once  and  spend  the  summer  in 
Europe.  Mrs.  Dacy  was  quite  convinced  that  he 
feared  a  further  family  scandal  (what  might  not  one 
expect  from  a  woman  who  openly  denounced  a  hus 
band  as  Monica  had  done?),  and  that  he  meant  to  get 
Nell  safely  out  of  it  before  there  were  further  com 
plications.  She  sincerely  hoped  her  niece  would  be 
appreciative  of  the  chivalry  in  the  thought. 

But  that  young  lady  declared  that  she  liked  nice 
long  engagements,  also  there  was  the  question  of  a 
trousseau.  To  be  married  without  all  the  fuss  and 
furbelows  did  not  meet  with  her  approval,  why — they 
had  scarcely  gotten  used  to  the  engagement  yet ! 

Also  she  had  decided  she  wanted  a  portrait  of  Lane 
and  one  of  herself  painted  by  Monica  before  the  wed 
ding.  Altogether  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  rush 
affairs  of  that  sort 

\Vhereupon  Sargent  decided  that  if  he  was  not  to 

174 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  175 

get  married,  he  had  better  get  back  to  work,  which  he 
promptly  did,  going  back  to  New  York  in  the  midst 
of  the  summer  season,  to  the  dismay  and  disgust  of 
Miss  Mitford. 

She  went  over  to  the  bungalow  for  sympathy,  but 
was  laughed  at. 

"You  only  wanted  a  celebrity  to  show  off  for  the 
summer,  Nell,"  decided  Monica;  "but  if  a  man  lives 
up  to  a  reputation  such  as  Mr.  Sargent  enjoys,  he 
can't  do  it  by  carrying  your  parasol.  Of  course  the 
man  has  to  keep  up  his  work." 

"Of  course  you  would  see  it  that  way,"  said  the 
aggrieved  and  lonely  one,  "but  it's  spoiling  our  sum 
mer.  Aunt  Martha  is  sulky,  and — " 

"With  me,  I  suppose!" 

"Well,  you  certainly  did  help.  She  and  Fannie  have 
agreed  as  to  the  immorality  of  your  plans  for  your 
husband.  They  have  grown  quite  chummy  over  the 
subject." 

Monica  Wayne  laughed  as  she  bent  over  a  great 
work  table  where  she  was  unrolling  sheets  of  paper 
and  arranging  for  some  preliminary  drawings. 

"I  can  fancy  they  would,"  she  observed.  "Their 
standards  are  about  the  same,  though  type  varies  in 
the  outer  shell." 

"Well,  you'd  better  brace  up  for  a  bit  of  trouble 
out  of  it  any  way." 

"Why?" 

"Can't  you  see  that  Aunt  Martha  is  no  longer  in 


176  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

doubt  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  her  beloved  nephew? 
Fannie  Smith  has  of  course  told  her  oceans  of  things, 
and  Aunt  Martha  feels  that  it  is  her  Christian  duty 
to  write  Glyn." 

"Um —  yes  —  Christian  duty!  Have  you  any  idea 
of  what  the  lady's  special  Providence  suggests  she 
should  suggest  to  the  wandering  lamb  of  the  family 
fold?" 

"You  won't  like  it,"  said  the  girl,  warningly. 

"That  is  not  so  unlikely  either,  if  those  two  ladies 
have  charge  of  affairs,"  conceded  Monica,  "but  even 
so—" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that  Fannie  has  any  idea  of 
Aunt  Martha's  plans,  but  I  know  she  has  a  plan.  You 
remember  the  snapshot  Tony  took  of  you  last  summer 
sailing  your  own  boat?  You  wore  that  blue  suit  with 
the  white  Tam-o'-Shanter  and  looked  like  a  dream 
in  it!" 

"  Thanks;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  Aunt  Dacy's 
plan?" 

"Well,  you  know  Tony  made  some  dandy  prints 
of  it  —  has  one  framed  in  his  boat — and  he  couldn't 
well  afford  to  refuse  a  copy  to  Aunt  Martha,  could 
he?" 

"N-no,  I  suppose  not,"  agreed  Monica,  slowly,  as 
she  gave  special  and  thoughtful  attention  to  fastening 
a  sheet  of  paper  on  a  drawing  board. 

"And  he  could  not  guess  that  she  wanted  it  to  slip 
in  a  letter  sent  to  Glyndon  Wayne." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  177 

"What!" 

"  Heavens !  Monica,  don't  glare  at  me  like  that,  I 
am  not  the  blessed  peace  maker.  I'd  just  as  soon 
be  blest  some  other  way.  Also  she  sent  the  photo 
Tony  took  of  you  and  me  together  —  a  good  likeness." 

Monica  Wayne  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
with  her  back  to  Nell.  She  stood  there  so  long,  staring 
seaward,  that  her  visitor  grew  nervous,  then  fidgety, 
then  apologetic. 

"  Don't  cut  the  whole  family  on  that  account,  Mon 
ica,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  suppose  she  thought  that  if 
he  could  be  interested  in  that  gawky  girl — " 

"  Lulu  is  not  gawky,  Nell.  She  is  a  dear,  winsome 
child,  and  is,  I  suppose,  just  the  type  to  interest  a 
man  who  has  tired  of  everything  else." 

"Well  —  she  couldn't  hold  a  candle  to  you,  Monica, 
and  I  suppose  Aunt  Martha  thought — " 

"That  is  where  you  are  mistaken  again,"  inter 
rupted  Monica;  "at  Lulu's  age  I  was  not  one-half  so 
interesting  as  she.  I  was  a  lean,  tanned  little  imp  with 
sunburnt  hair,  and  an  ugly  temper.  That  is  the  only 
way  Glyndon  Wayne  remembers  me.  If  he  had  not 
owed  a  —  a  relative  of  mine  a  lot  of  money,  he  would 
never  have  offered  to  pay  the  debt  by  marrying  me; 
and  if  I  had  owned  an  American  relative  to  whom  I 
could  go,  I  would  not  have  spoiled  his  life  by  marrying 
him." 

"Spoiled  his  life?"  and  Nell's  tone  was  skeptical. 

"Yes,"  assented  Monica,  wearily.     "He  is  the  one 


178  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

who  has  needed  freedom  most.  If  I  could  trust  him 
to  marry  the  right  woman  I  would  give  it  to  him. 
That  is  where  his  duty  lies.  But  so  long  as  he  won't 
see  it — "  and  she  shook  her  head  and  resumed  her 
work  at  the  table. 

Nell  sat  looking  at  her,  trying  to  picture  the  lean, 
sunburnt  imp  in  the  woman  whose  every  curve  was  of 
grace,  whose  skin  was  of  velvet  softness,  whose  eyes 
were  deep  wells  of  mystery  under  lashes  and  brows  of 
black,  though  the  brown  hair  held  glints  of  sunshine 
as  it  circled  her  head  in  a  braided  crown.  Nell  de 
cided  that  she  affected  that  style  of  dressing  her  hair 
in  order  to  look  older  than  she  was  —  which  was  a 
great  mistake.  That  still  dignity  of  hers  added  to  the 
illusion;  and  under  it  all  was  the  heart  of  a  girl — a 
girl  so  charming  that  it  accounted  for  her  choice  of  a 
home  near  the  people  who  offered  her  hospitality,  who 
would,  in  a  way,  be  a  social  protection. 

"  I  made  a  mistake  in  coming  here  to  live,"  she  said, 
as  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  around  the  great 
room.  "  It  was  Uncle  Dacy  who  won  me.  He  said  I 
would  be  sheltered  here,  and  I,  even  then  I  had  begun 
to  know  that  a  girl  needs  to  feel  there  is  shelter  some 
where." 

"  But,  Monica,  you  are  here  such  a  little  time,  in 
the  summer,  and  you  are  such  a  bird  of  flight  at  other 
times,  that  you  can  always  go  if — well,  if  the  very 
worst  should  happen,  and  you  were  annoyed  here." 

"I  don't  think  I  had  better  wait  for  that  very 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  179 

worst;  yet  I  have  liked  the  place  —  it  seemed  a  sort  of 
haven  to  come  back  to;  a  central  camp  where  I  could 
keep  my  traps  and  toggery.  I  could  seH  it  easily,  of 
course,  though  Uncle  Dacy  insists  I  would  need  to 
prune  the  shrubs  and  spruce  it  up." 

"The  vandal!  He  talks  like  a  crude  real  estate 
agent.  Uncle  Dacy's  artistic  bump  is  a  hollow.  Gillie 
and  the  children  are  coming  over  for  me  in  the  car. 
You  don't  mind  them  scampering  over  promiscuously, 
do  you?" 

"No,  I  don't  mind,  and  Maum  Rosa  has  great  joy 
in  them  all.  It  is  the  trouble  of  her  life  that  I  live  so 
much  alone." 

"Well,  in  all  these  years  I  should  think  she'd  get 
used  to  it." 

"She  never  does  —  quite.  And  though  she  was  my 
mother's  nurse  I  never  saw  her  from  my  babyhood  un 
til  my  return  to  Georgia.  She  thoroughly  approves  of 
your  family  parties,  and  loves  to  fuss  around  and  cook 
up  surprises  for  you;  says  there  is  always  something 
doing  when  you  are  here." 

"  She  is  a  dear,  normal  soul,"  decided  Nell,  curling 
up  on  a  window  seat  and  watching  Monica  at  work, 
"and  she  is  quite  right  about  you  living  alone.  You 
should  marry  some  nice  chap  and  make  him  happy 
ever  afterwards ! " 

"As  the  laws  are  so  unfair  to  women,"  complained 
her  hostess,  "and  only  allows  us  one  husband  at  a 


time—" 


180  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Nell  shied  a  pillow  at  her,  from  which  she  ducked, 
and  laughed. 

"Since  this  remains  a  sad  fact,"  she  continued,  "I 
don't  see  how  I  am  legally  to  practice  polyandry  unless 
I  emigrate  to  India." 

"Poly— what?     India?" 

Nell  sat  up  eagerly,  her  blue  eyes  open  wide. 
Monica  laughed  at  her  and  nodded. 

"  India,"  she  repeated.  "  Certain  districts  where 
ladies  can  have  as  many  husbands  as  they  can  take 
care  of." 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  jar  you?"  remarked  Nell, 
slangily.  "  Say,  I  always  did  wonder  what  the  attrac 
tion  for  women  was  in  the  dressing  gowned  priests  of 
the  East  who  are  so  popular  lately.  Every  black-and- 
tan  who  gets  himself  up  in  a  yellow  robe,  a  turban, 
and  a  self-communion  expression,  can  be  star  of  the 
evening  for  whole  towns  full  of  women.  They  all  say 
they  are  seeking  a  new  religion,  or  devoting  themselves 
to  a  new  cult,  but  I  have  a  hunch  that  they  are  seeking 
the  trail  to  those  nice  emancipated  districts  where 
woman's  rights  have  been  settled  the  way  she  wants 
them ! " 

"Elinor!"  and  the  reproving  tone  imitated  Mrs. 
Dacy.  "  I  trust  you  do  not  allow  any  one  outside  of 
the  family  to  hear  you  make  use  of  such  regrettable 
language ! " 

"Oh,  you  humbug,"  laughed  Elinor,  joyously. 
"But  is  that  correct  about  India?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  181 

"Some  parts  of  India;  thinking  of  emigrating?** 

Nell  flounced  around  on  the  window  seat  with  her 
back  to  the  speaker. 

"  If  you  could  convince  the  last  two  men  you  prom 
ised  to  marry,"  continued  Monica  Wayne,  teasingly; 
but  Nell  flounced  around  again,  facing  her  with  a 
scowl. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  fall  in  love ! "  she 
burst  out  vindictively.  "  It  would  teach  you  a  whole 
lot,  and  I  hope  I  may  be  there  to  see  it  when  it 
happens ! " 

uYes,  dear  child,"  said  Monica,  soothingly,  "I'll 
carry  a  banner  to  tell  you  when." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TN  Manhattan,  a  month  later,  McLane  Sargent 
turned  from  his  desk  and  walked  over  to  a  lounging 
chair  as  he  cut  open  a  large,  square  envelope  contain 
ing  many  sheets  inscribed  with  the  angular  penmanship 
of  Elinor  Mitford,  and  smiled  as  he  noted  the  heading 
of  the  letter, — 

DACY'S  HARBOR,  MASS. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  SARGENT: — 

I  hope  you  take  notice  that  I  am  duly  polite  to  a  man 
whom  I  don't  seem  to  know  very  well  these  days ! 

You  may  not  be  "  my  Mr.  Sargent  "  at  all !  I  don't  know 
whose  you  are,  but  I  do  know  that  this  has  been  the  most 
infernal  summer  ever! 

It's  all  very  well  to  write  me  that  you  are  deep  in  a  new 
novel,  and  that  Art  is  mistress  for  the  moment,  but  what 
about  the  rest  of  the  time  ? 

If  I  had  ever  dreamed  that  you  were  not  coming  back,  I 
would  have  accepted  Nanny's  invitation  for  the  yacht  trip. 
Gillie  went,  also  Fannie  and  Lulu.  I  get  lovely  letters 
about  their  lovely  times  up  at  Boothbay  Harbor,  and  then 
I  go  over  and  camp  all  over  Monica's  place,  and  wonder 
how  she  stands  being  alone  all  the  time,  when  it  nearly  kills 
me  in  a  week ! 

Of  course  there  are  folks  here  —  relatives!  The  place 
is  overrun  with  them,  but  I  would  start  this  minute  and  join 
Nanny  Allen  if  Aunt  Martha  was  not  so  awful  about  it! 
I'm  sorry  I  was  ever  engaged  to  Tony,  for  it  seems  the  pro- 

182 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  183 

prieties  decide  I  can't  go  on  his  yacht  even  with  his  sister 
as  chaperone!  I  tell  Aunt  Martha  you  don't  care,  and  at 
would  be  all  right,  but  she  looks  at  me  over  her  eye  glasses 
and  says  in  her  most  precise  way,  "  Elinor,  I  am  aston 
ished!" 

She  doesn't  tell  me  whether  it  is  at  me  or  at  you! 
Cousin  Huldah  is  here  from  Boston,  and  while  she  can't, 
of  course,  approve  of  New  York,  she  has  brought  with  her 
the  latest  and  biggest  hit  in  the  world  of  romance  (so  far 
as  sales  go  —  which  is  up  in  the  million !)  to  show  that  even 
Manhattan,  with  all  its  crudeness,  can  evolve  a  near-risque 
chronicle  of  real  life  (all  college  girls  are  dippy  over  it!) 
and  yet  never  cross  the  forbidden  line  as  you  do  with  your 
Mexican  saint-sinner!  This  is  her  way  of  making  a  pro 
test  because  I  quarreled  with  Tony,  and  his  barrels  of 
money,  and  became  yours  truly!  I  wish  you  had  time  to 
read  it  —  I  mean  the  "  Chronicle  from  Life"  an  artist's 
life !  The  heroine  is  a  lovely  creature,  formed  by  Venus  in 
a  happy  moment.  She  flees  from  an  artistic,  hypnotic  vil 
lain,  and  finds  shelter  in  the  bachelor  apartment  of  the  man 
she  adores.  He  is  a  highly  emotional  creature  as  well  as 
a  husky  athlete.  He  has  fallen  from  grace  morally,  and 
temporarily  socially,  but  is  really  a  noble  soul,  if  the 
women  would  only  let  him  alone  —  which  they  won't! 
(Lane,  dear,  does  all  masculine  genius  have  to  hide  from 
the  sweet  creatures  who  find  their  ideals  too  late?)  I  don't 
mean  the  women  of  the  twilight  type,  but  the  "  papa's 
darling "  and  "  hubby's  pet "  sort,  whose  adoring  natures 
require  the  romance  of  a  kindred  soul  while  everyday  hubby 
is  earning  bread  and  butter !  When  I  marry  you,  I  want  a 
clause  in  the  contract  allowing  me  to  read  your  mail  — 
some  one  will  have  to  guard  you  from  the  dear  things,  to 
judge  from  the  unusual  sort  of  interest  "  Twilight "  has 
aroused.  Your  point  of  view  is  so  improper,  Cousin  Hul- 


184  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

dah  says!  To  return  to  our  hero — he  has  as  companion 
in  his  lonely  moments,  a  brandy  bottle.  He  talks  to  it  in 
order  to  give  vent  to  the  noble  sentiments  of  his  soul !  He 
would  voice  love  to  the  Venus  creature,  but  that  he  has 
fallen  from  grace,  his  inspiration  for  work  is  gone,  and  be 
yond  the  brandy  bottle  he  sees  only  the  grave ! 

This  is  the  psychological  moment  when  the  persecuted 
heroine,  who  secretly  adores  him,  turns  blindly  to  his 
door  for  refuge.  She  begs  him  to  save  her  from  the  hyp 
notic  villain  for  whom  she  has  been  posing  to  earn  mere 
bread  and  butter.  She  clings  to  him,  inarticulate  and  half 
fainting,  just  as  the  electric  lights  are  turned  off  by  the 
gods  —  or  the  janitor! 

To  make  the  situation  more  thrilling,  some  convivial 
Companions  had  left  the  remains  of  a  lunch  scattered  about 

—  cheese!     A  hungry  mouse,  lured  by  the  odor,  ventures 
after  the  crumbs,  just  as  the  husky  of  the  brandy  bottle,  and 
the  noble  sentiments,  has  firmly  unlaced  the  clinging  fingers. 
But  she  hears  that  mouse !    There  is  a  scream  in  the  dark, 
the  fear  of  the  unseen  is  upon  her,  he  lifts  her  in  his  strong 
arms,  she  cuddles  her  cheek  into  the  hollow  of  his  neck,  and 
begs  his  protection.     And  the  night  passes  and  the  dawn 
breaks  and  in  his  arms  she  is  asleep  —  the  trustful  child  of 
Venus. 

I  can't  make  out  whether  he  stood  there  all  night  pro 
tecting  the  lovely  thing  in  his  arms  against  the  mouse ;  any 
way,  there  are  whispers  of  the  shy  young  creature,  and  mur 
murs  of  reassurance,  and  long  lines  of  asterisks  in  between 

—  spelling  breathless  suspense  for  the  reader;  but  nothing 
happens. 

And  in  the  morning  mail  a  letter  comes  with  the  news 
that  a  dear,  maiden  aunt  has  died  and  left  him  her  sole 
heir;  and  the  two  breakfast  in  his  rooms,  and  start  out  to 
buy  wedding  togs! 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  185 

Now  I  know  Cousin  Huldah  regards  this  as  the  proper 
kind  of  love  story;  and,  as  I  told  you,  the  girls  are  crazy 
about  it.  It  is  really  proper,  yet  so  nearly  not  so!  All  the 
breathless,  doubtful,  almost  improper  moments  were 
really  the  fault  of  the  mouse ! 

Why  can't  you  do  just  one  like  that  to  square  yourself 
with  our  New  England  relatives?  They  shake  their  heads 
over  the  big  sales  of  your  Woman  of  the  Twilight.  Aunt 
Martha  said  yesterday  that  it  would  only  have  taken  a  few 
pages  more  to  have  had  a  death-bed  marriage  for  your 
Mexican  black  sheep,  and  thus  showed  that  their  intentions 
were  proper! 

I  am  only  passing  it  along  as  it  comes  to  me,  so  if  I  am 
not  an  inspiration  it  isn't  my  fault !  I  tried  to  talk  to  Mon 
ica  about  it,  but  she  was  no  comfort.  I  did  not  dare  tell 
Cousin  Huldah  her  reminiscences  of  Mexicans  who  regarded 
marriage  as  a  useless  expense,  and  a  trick  of  the  church  to 
get  extra  money  from  the  priest  for  absolution!  Also  she 
says  they  were  often  dear,  harmless  people!  Can  you 
fancy  Aunt  Martha  hearing  that? 

I  do  wish  you  had  talked  more  with  Monica  —  she  is  the 
only  one  among  us  who  has  lived  near  the  sort  of  people 
you  wrote  of.  I  say  "  near,"  yet  Mexico  and  California  are 
both  so  big  that  you  might  never  have  been  within  a  thou 
sand  miles  of  her!  But  I  did  hope  you  two  would  take  to 
each  other,  and  you  ran  away  at  the  first  glance ! 

She  is  having  her  own  troubles.  Aunt  Martha,  follow 
ing  the  thing  she  calls  her  Christian  duty,  is  making  the 
trouble.  Lord  deliver  me  from  the  folks  who  decide  they 
are  divinely  called  upon  to  adjust  all  the  family  affairs! 

Our  dear  cousin  Glyndon  thinks  he  wants  to  come  back. 
I  had  a  brief,  shaky  note  from  him,  also  a  love  of  a  brace 
let  —  a  sapphire  in  dull  Etruscan  gold.  He  wants  to  know 


1 86  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

if  Monica  is  really  as  beautiful  as  the  pictures  Aunt  Martha 
sent  him  —  he  seems  doubtful.  I  wrote  him  I  thought  Mon 
ica  had  a  beautiful  spirit,  and  that  sort  of  nature  rather 
blinded  friends  to  any  physical  imperfections!  I  felt  like 
a  brute  to  even  hint  that  Monica  had  a  physical  imperfec 
tion  —  for  she  has  n't ;  she  is  about  the  most  perfect  creature 
I  ever  expect  to  see!  If  I  were  a  sculptor  I  would  model 
her  as  an  Aphrodite.  She  is  as  strong  as  steel  under  that 
velvety  skin.  I  only  wish  you  had  seen  her  in  the  water, 
or  managing  her  own  boat.  If  I  had  dared  tell  dear  cousin 
Glyn  what  a  wonder  she  is,  he  would  be  here  on  the  first 
steamer,  with  his  bank  book  and  Aunt  Martha  to  plead 
for  him.  Not  that  he  cares  for  her,  only  if  she  was  hand 
some,  and  would  open  a  house  in  town  for  him,  she  wrould 
bring  back  the  people!  I  think  he  is  sick  of  Europe,  and 
of  going  around  under  a  cloud.  Too  many  of  his  sort  over 
there ! 

Monica  doesn't  say  a  word,  but  I  see  her  looking  over 
the  place,  and  making  little  changes,  and  know  it  is  with  a 
view  to  selling  it  if  living  is  made  too  unpleasant  for  her. 
When  we  marry,  I  want  one  corner  of  our  house  sacred 
to  Monica  alone;  else  she  will  drift  away  from  all  of  us 
some  day,  and  leave  no  trail. 

Glyn's  surprise  over  those  pictures  is  funny — he  seems 
to  think  it  is  some  family  scheme  to  get  him  back  and  re 
form  him ;  that's  why  he  wrote  to  me !  He  knows  precious 
well  I  would  never  waste  time  trying  to  reform  him!  He 
states  that  he  can't  see  a  trace  of  the  scrawny,  thin-faced, 
evil-tempered  little  ranger  in  this  lovely  girl  of  the  picture 
—  Tony  made  a  snapshot  of  her  for  me.  I  am  sending  you 
a  copy,  for  I  want  you  to  see  that  there  is  a  likeness  to  those 
drawings,  not  in  full  face,  perhaps,  but  in  general  char 
acter. 

I  am  ever  so  proud  of  the  special  edition  of  the  story 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  187 

you  are  bringing  out.  What  is  the  "new"  drawing  you 
mention  as  frontispiece?  Does  that  mean  that  you  are 
again  in  communication  with  your  Mystery  Lady?  I  can 
stand  a  certain  amount  of  that  so  long  as  I  am  on  the 
inside,  but  if  you  start  blanketing  the  proposition,  I  '11  divorce 
you! 

Monica  told  us  of  a  simple  and  charming  method  by 
which  the  Indian  women  of  a  certain  tribe  issue  a  decree 
of  divorce  if  the  man  in  the  case  refuses  to  play  the  game 
right.  She  simply  closes  her  door  against  him  and  the 
thing  is  settled  —  the  woman  decides.  The  state  laws  are 
not  called  into  action.  The  man  toddles  home  to  his  own 
folks.  Aunt  Martha  says  it  is  a  heathen  and  unlawful  so 
cial  condition,  and  Monica  said,  in  her  sweetest  way,  that 
she  did  not  in  the  least  mind  being  a  heathen,  and  that  she 
thought  the  tribal  custom  was  a  very  good  law  —  as  to 
live  with  the  man  when  she  did  not  want  to,  would  be  hope 
lessly  immoral! 

So  you  can  have  an  idea  how  close  the  dove  of  peace  is 
hanging  over  this  shore !  They  are  nice  and  polite  to  each 
other,  but  Aunt  Martha  can't  get  over  the  things  Monica 
said  that  night ;  neither  can  Fannie  Smith ! 

Do  break  away  and  come  up!  I  never  did  need  a  man 
around  the  place  so  badly.  There  are  some  cousins  here, 
but  they  are  not  worth  flirting  with! 

I  '11  have  to  pay  excess  baggage  on  this ;  and  when  I  take 
my  pen  in  hand  to  indite  chronicles  of  this  length  to  the 
man  out  of  sight  you  can  wager  there  is  nothing  doing  at 
our  camp ! 

If  you  don't  come,  it  will  be  me  for  Boothbay  Harbor; 
they  want  Monica,  too !  Be  good !  NELL. 

Sargent  opened  another  envelope  addressed  in  the 
same  writing,  and  from  it  fell  the  picture  of  which  she 


1 88  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

wrote,  a  slender  white  figure  guiding  her  boat  through 
a  white-capped  sea.  There  was  a  crisp  sparkle  in  the 
picture,  a  snappy  wind  sent  spray  flying  as  the  bow 
cleaved  the  water.  With  her  feet  braced  against  the 
dip  of  the  boat  to  leeward  she  stood  poised,  confident, 
and  erect,  the  graceful  figure  outlined  clearly  from 
shoulder  to  instep  by  the  wind  whipping  her  skirts 
about  her.  Her  hair  braided  in  schoolgirl  fashion 
gave  him  a  new  idea  of  her;  here  she  was  herself,  a 
slender  boyish  girl,  laughing  as  she  drove  her  little 
sailboat  over  the  lift  of  the  waves. 

He  could  only  see  her  ear  and  cheek  and  chin,  yet 
there  was  joy  in  it  and  youth  and  a  charm  alluring.  In 
a  way  it  was  also  familiar.  He  had  never  seen  her 
joyous.  She  had  been  gay,  and  a  trifle  ironic,  and  her 
eyes  held  one;  yet  there  had  been  no  care-free  joyous 
abandon  such  as  one  could  understand  in  this  picture 
of  the  graceful,  boyish  sailor. 

Was  it  because  she  was  of  the  same  type  as  the 
drawings  in  the  little  book  that  the  thought  of  her  was 
a  close,  intimate  thing?  For  he  no  longer  even  denied 
the  fact  that  it  was  so.  There  was  something  mar 
velous  in  her  closeness,  in  the  way  her  voice  came  to 
him  —  in  the  memory  of  the  one  little  moment  when 
he  had  held  her  hand;  and  the  eyes  —  how  marvelous 
they  were  in  their  baffling  witchery;  gray  shadowed 
flame!  There  was  not  a  glance  she  had  given  him 
which  he  could  not  recall  and  see  again  with  his  own 
eyes  closed. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 


Not  since  he  was  twenty  had  any  woman  creature 
thus  made  herself  a  part  of  every  waking  hour,  and 
then  it  had  been  a  wild  boy's  passion  for  a  girl  who 
used  him  as  kindling;  who  gave  caress  for  caress  in 
the  abandon  of  despair  ere  she  turned  away  to  sell  her 
self  for  a  few  millions  and  a  wedding  ring.  The  hurt 
had  gone  rather  deep.  It  had  been  more  than  one  year 
before  he  had  been  able  to  greet  her  with  the  self- 
restraint  desirable,  or  note  her  as  one  of  the  social 
leaders  of  a  much  envied  set,  without  the  mad  memo 
ries  of  stolen  hours  sweeping  over  him. 

Then,  in  rebellion  against  the  slavery  of  the  social 
game,  the  emptiness  all  the  wedding  ring  and  the  mil 
lions  had  won  for  her,  she  tried  to  call  him  back,  and 
—  lost  him  eternally. 

He  realized  then  that  the  loss  of  his  last  illusion 
could  be  even  a  more  poignant  thing  than  the  loss  of 
the  pretty  pirate  who  stole  sweets  where  it  was  safe 
to  steal  them,  but  never  lost  track  of  the  thing  she  had 
been  trained  to  look  for  —  money! 

Girls  had  been  merely  girls  in  his  life  since  then  — 
charming  or  not,  as  it  happened;  interesting  always,  yet 
leaving  him  master  of  himself.  The  safe  frankness  of 
Nell  had  appealed  to  him  more  than  had  beauty  or 
charm  of  any  girl  for  years.  Only  once  had  the 
lure  of  the  unknown  cast  a  glamour  over  his  imagina 
tion  through  the  drawings  for  his  Woman  of  the 
Twilight. 

But  that  had  been  a  chapter  of  its  own  in  his  life, 


190  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

and  the  chapter  was  ended;  except  that  it  had,  for  a 
time,  brought  back  the  mystery  of  youth's  illusions  and 
held  all  the  suggestion  of  romance,  an  idyll  of  the 
dusk  of  life.  The  unknown  artist  was  to  his  imagina 
tion  as  a  veiled  woman  of  the  East  whose  lute  had  vi 
brated  for  him  for  a  little  moment  ere  the  lattice 
closed !  It  had  not  belonged  at  all  to  the  usual  experi 
ences  of  life,  and  but  for  the  written  statement  that 
she  was  not  free,  and  could  write  him  no  more,  he 
would  have  allowed  no  obstacles  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  his  finding  her. 

Yet  she  had  written  him  once  more  at  least,  and 
after  reading  Nell's  letter  a  second  time  he  took  from 
a  desk  the  drawing  he  used  as  frontispiece  for  the  spe 
cial  edition  of  the  book,  and  read  the  typed  letter 
accompanying  it, — 

MAN: 

I  said  I  would  not  write,  but  a  dream  has  set  me  to 
work,  and  the  dream  was  of  your  book.  I  do  not  know 
what  the  drawing-  means,  I  only  drew  what  the  dream 
brought  me.  It  may  be  a  ship  of  life,  gray,  gray  with 
only  the  very  tips  of  the  sails  touched  by  white  light. 
I  seemed  waiting,  in  the  dream,  for  the  light  to  grow 
and  spread  over  the  gray  of  the  sea,  and  dissolve  the 
mists,  and  show  me  what  was  beyond  —  and  beyond ! 

Yet  again  I  was  thankful  that  the  white  light  did 
touch  it,  though  only  the  top  of  the  sails.  It  seems  to 
belong  to  you,  so  I  send  it.  The  ship,  as  you  see,  is 
going  out  —  far  out  into  the  deeper  dusk  —  as  I  am. 

To  you  the  light! 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  191 

The  drawing  was  in  softest,  warmest  gray.  It  made 
Sargent  think  of  certain  Japanese  pictures,  so  simple 
were  the  lines,  yet  so  satisfying  in  the  suggestions. 

There  was  a  gray  shore  where  the  mists  rolled,  and 
out  of  the  mists  the  vessel  like  a  fleeing  bird  spread 
gray  sails.  The  hull  was  merely  suggested,  also  the 
grace  of  it,  and  only  the  tips  of  the  sails  caught  a 
gleam  of  white  light  from  some  unseen  source  —  some 
glancing  ray  piercing  the  gray  mists  and  outlining  the 
ship  of  dreams  in  a  crown  of  white. 

The  thing  fascinated  him,  and  he  deliberately  put  it 
out  of  sight  that  the  thoughts  it  suggested  be  not 
encouraged  to  come  between  him  and  the  work  he  had 
to  do. 

But  as  he  placed  it  on  his  desk,  and  knew  that  each 
view  of  it  was  more  satisfying  than  the  last,  his  eyes 
wandered  to  the  smaller  picture  sent  by  Nell  —  of 
another  vessel  heading  out  to  sea,  but  a  very  tiny  ves 
sel  buoyant  in  the  sparkling  light,  and  the  figure  of  the 
girl  vibrant  with  life  and  grace,  and  a  daring,  boylike 
instead  of  girlish.  Where,  in  what  land  of  dreams 
had  she  thus  crossed  his  vision  before? 

It  was  not  any  one  feature,  or  any  one  line  of  figure 
by  which  she  brought  to  him  the  fleeting  witchery  of 
nearness  and  a  sort  of  kinship;  it  was  as  much  her 
voice,  and  the  trend  of  her  thought.  What  other  girl 
would  ever  have  given  such  an  ultimatum  as  she  gave 
Hallet  and  Dacy  that  night? 

Yet  he  was  evidently  the  only  one  of  the  group  who 


192  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

was  not  even  surprised,  and  his  joy  in  her  daring  was 
altogether  absurd.  It  accounted  for  his  silence,  and  he 
had  come  away  half  afraid  she  might  realize  the  en 
chantment  by  which  he  was  possessed.  He  could  fancy 
the  mockery  in  those  wonderful  eyes  and  the  slight 
ironic  curve  of  the  adorable  mouth. 

He  sat  looking  at  the  two  boats  —  sparkling  life  and 
shadowed  mystery  —  and  smoked  until  clouds  hid  them 
at  times,  and  helped  the  gray  ship  to  added  atmosphere. 

He  was  so  engaged  when  a  knock  sounded  at  the 
door  and  George  Hallet  came  in.  Sargent  greeted 
him  heartily,  offering  him  cigars,  something  in  a  glass, 
and  a  lounging  chair. 

"Thanks  for  all,"  and  Hallet  accepted  the  latter 
with  evident  pleasure.  "I  did  not  call  up  to  ask  if 
you  were  at  leisure  because  I  didn't  want  to  risk  being 
turned  down;  one  never  knows  what  barriers  genius 
may  erect,  so  I  took  a  long  chance." 

"  Do  it  again.  When  I  am  working  too  hard  to  see 
folks,  there 's  nothing  doing  with  the  phone  and  no 
doors  are  opened." 

He  was  preparing  some  fragrant  refreshment  at  a 
cabinet,  and  the  odor  of  limes  was  on  the  air.  While 
his  hands  were  busy  at  the  pleasant  task,  his  mind  was 
alert  and  was  not  above  curiosity.  Though  he  knew 
Hallet  casually,  and  had  for  him  a  real  admiration, 
there  had  never  been  any  chumminess  between  them; 
Hallet  had  never  before  been  to  his  rooms,  and  his 
manner  indicated  that  his  call  was  not  merely  a  casual 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  193 

social  matter,  his  pleasure  at  the  open  door  was  too 
apparent. 

"Another  masterpiece?"  he  queried,  waving  his 
hand  towards  sheets  of  manuscript  scattered  on  the 
floor,  where  they  had  been  accidentally  brushed  from 
the  desk.  "  I  hope  you  treat  us  to  sunshine  and  happi 
ness  instead  of — " 

Sargent  smiled  at  the  halt  in  his  speech. 

"They  all  take  me  to  task  for  seeing  the  shadows 
too  clearly,"  he  agreed,  "so  don't  think  I  am  at  all 
thin-skinned  about  it.  I  am  doing  a  mystery  story  this 
time  —  turning  an  actual  experience  into  copy  —  and 
as  the  mystery  has  never  been  solved  I  have  a  new 
sort  of  work  to  do." 

He  still  stood  at  the  cabinet  pouring  the  fragrant 
beverage  from  a  pitcher  into  two  tall  slender  glasses, 
and  turning  to  offer  one  to  Hallet  perceived  that  he 
was  giving  little  heed  to  the  theme  of  the  new  novel. 
He  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  staring  at  the 
pictures  on  the  desk. 

"Like  that?"  he  asked  as  he  dropped  into  his  own 
chair  and  lifted  his  glass  to  his  guest  ere  drinking.  "  It 
is  the  frontispiece  for  the  special  edition  of  the 
Woman  of  the  Twilight.  Entirely  symbolic.  What 
would  you  call  it — a  ship  of  life  destined  to  the  mists 
of  the  half  light?  But  the  ray  of  white  touching  it 
rather  lifts  it  out  of  the  thought  of  shadows — makes  it 
a  poetic  dream-like  thing,  with  a  suggestion  of  Japan, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 


194  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

:'Yes,"  said  Hallet,  slowly,  still  gazing  at  the  desk. 
"  It  has  that  suggestion,  but  it  was  not  the  pastel  I 
was  looking  at;  it  was  the  picture  of  Mrs.  Wayne." 

;'You  have  good  eyes,"  observed  Sargent.  "How 
could  you  tell  who  it  was  at  that  distance  when  the 
face  scarcely  shows?" 

"  I  don't  know,  just  the  character  and  poise,  I  sup 
pose.  It  is  very  distinctive." 

"  Very,  else  I  should  not  be  its  temporary  host.  Nell 
sent  it  to  show  me  there  really  was  a  sort  of  likeness 
to  the  woman  in  my  book  illustrations;  not  that  she 
needed  to  send  extra  evidence.  The  type  is  the  same, 
and,  as  you  say,  distinctive." 

'Yes,"  conceded  Hallet,  "very,  and  I  presume  that 
is  one  of  the  pictures  Mrs.  Dacy  used  in  her  efforts  to 
bring  her  nephew  back  to  America;  or  am  I  allowed 
to  presume  that,  as  a  prospective  member  of  the 
family,  you  have  been  introduced  to  that  late  laudable 
movement?" 

His  tone  was  so  ironic  that  Sargent  looked  at  him 
sharply. 

"Nell  tells  me  of  it  today,"  and  he  picked  up  her 
letter,  folding  it  carefully  and  slipping  it  in  the 
envelope.  "She  also  writes  herself  down  as  a 
prophetess  of  troubles  that  may  arise  from  the  family 
interference." 

Hallet  drained  his  glass,  and,  rising  to  his  feet, 
crossed  the  room  to  the  window,  where  he  stared 
down  the  avenue  at  the  endless  crowds  of  people. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  195 

There  had  been  a  shower  of  rain,  and  the  sun,  gleam 
ing  yellow  from  under  the  slight  cloud,  made  all  of  the 
world  a  golden  glitter,  but  Hallet  did  not  appear  im 
pressed  by  the  picture.  Sargent,  watching  him, 
wondered  a  little  and  emptied  the  glass,  and  waited. 

"They  will  drive  her  out  of  America  and  out  of  all 
civilization  if  they  don't  let  her  alone,"  said  Hallet  at 
last.  "  Can't  they  see  that  a  girl  who  made  the  stand 
she  did  about  that  divorce  does  not  care  a  rap  about 
the  reputation  of  their  little  family  circles?  But  since 
she  never  will  agree  to  a  union,  the  only  safe  thing  for 
her  is  legal  freedom,  and  let  him  marry  whom  he 
chooses." 

"Even  Lulu?" 

"  No —  of  course  not.  That  was  no  doubt  her  step 
mother's  scheming,  but  even  she  would  scarcely  dare 
try  it  again,  now  that  she  knows." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  observed  Sargent;  "the  sympa 
thetic  feminine  mind  has  queer  twists  at  times.  I 
think  her  sympathy  for  Mr.  Wayne  is  no  doubt 
strengthened  by  the  evidence  that  he  has  such  an 
impossible  wife.  I  can't  imagine  a  more  unwifely 
lady." 

"You  don't  like  her?"  stated  Hallet,  accusingly. 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  but  you  must  allow  that  she  does 
not  seem  at  all  amenable  to  the  domestic  conventions." 

"  But  she  could  be,  she  would  be  if  she  ever  had 
a  chance,  the  right  chance  with  the  right  man,"  per 
sisted  Hallet,  loyally.  "  This  unnatural  situation  and 


196  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

her  anomalous  position  puts  her  on  the  defensive  with 
everyone.  That  sort  of  thing  would  warp  the  spirit 
of  an  angel,  and — " 

"  I  could  think  of  one  or  two  other  things  to  com 
pare  her  to  rather  than  an  angel,"  was  Sargent's  smil 
ing  comment,  as  Hallet  dropped  into^  the  chair  again 
and  regarded  the  picture  of  her  on  the  desk. 

"  I  came  in  to  talk  to  you  about  this  very  subject," 
he  said  at  last,  "  and  it  gave  me  a  bit  of  a  whirl  to  come 
face  to  face  with  her  picture  here." 

"Not  my  fault,  or  hers,"  said  Sargent,  amicably. 
"Nell  is  the  deep-dyed  conspirator  in  the  case.  Are 
you  another?" 

"  I  imagine  that  is  about  what  it  amounts  to,"  con 
fessed  Hallet.  "I  had  her  convinced  that  a  divorce 
was  the  one  wise  thing,  and  you  see  how  it  ended.  A 
hint  that  he  might  marry  the  wrong  girl  made  her  no 
longer  indifferent,  but  assertive.  She  has  heretofore 
always  appeared  so  indifferent  that  no  one  can  see 
how  she  ever  came  to  marry  him.  She  made  conditions 
with  Dacy  before  she  came  into  the  family  circle  that 
they  were  not  to  trouble  her  with  questions.  She  was 
only  a  child  —  yet  most  unchildlike." 

"Yes,"  assented  Sargent.  "Charming  as  she  is  to 
the  people  she  likes,  she  struck  me  as  the  sort  of  woman 
who  had  never  had  a  childhood  —  not  that  she  is 
worldly  or  sophisticated  —  but  there  is  an  impression 
that  she  is  on  guard  —  that  she  has  always  been  on 
guard." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  197 

Hallet  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  You  've  struck  it,"  he  said  with  conviction.  "  That 
is  a  puzzling  element  I  could  never  quite  define  in  her, 
yet  always  felt." 

"Oh,  you've  felt  it,  too?" 

"Rather!  I  fancied  it  was  accounted  for  by  her 
unpleasant  situation,  but  knowing  what  we  do  of 
Wayne,  there  is  no  knowing  how  many  different  kinds 
of  hell  she  became  acquainted  with  before  any  of  us 
saw  her;  and  that's  why  there  must  be  none  of  this 
unhappy  family  reunion  business,  and  why  I  want  your 
help." 

"My  help!  My  dear  fellow,  if  you  knew  how  that 
lovely  lady  looks  over  me  and  past  me  and  then  looks 
the  other  way,  mostly  the  other  way,  you'd  realize 
that  this  is  the  wrong  shop  to  come  to  for  influence." 

"You  mean  that  she  doesn't  like  you?" 

"  I  confess  I  'd  be  afraid  to  ask  her." 

"  But  I  can't  understand — " 

"  Thanks ;  don't  try,"  suggested  Sargent.  "  The  fact 
is,  I  rather  think  our  loving  friends  had  rather  over 
done  the  pleasant  task  of  praising  each  of  us,  and  we 
met  prepared  to  pick  flaws  in  each  other.  She  began 
the  game  by  skim-milk  sort  of  praise  for  those  draw 
ings,"  and  he  motioned  to  the  originals  of  the  illustra 
tions,  framed,  on  the  wall,  "and  perhaps  I  said  the 
wrong  thing — result,  the  lovely  lady  looks  down  upon 
me  from  a  very  high  throne,  or  else  stilts." 

"At  least  I  can  assure  you  it  is  not  stilts,"  Hallet 


198  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

hastened  to  assert.  "  She  is  the  farthest  possible  from 
being  stilted;  but  you  know  she  does  know  considerable 
about  art,  and  it  may  be — " 

"Oh,  I  bear  no  malice,"  said  Sargent,  interrupting 
the  attempt  to  explain.  "She  probably  thinks  I  am 
not  the  right  man  for  Nell,  and  puts  me  on  probation 
before  giving  her  approval;  but  you  see  I  am  not 
likely  to  be  of  much  service  if  it  is  a  matter  of 
influence." 

"  But  I  hoped  that  with  the  help  of  Nell—" 

"  I  see.  In  her  letter  she  does  not  seem  to  favor  the 
family  reunion." 

"  I  know.  But  that  is  all  negative.  What  I  want 
is  positive  action  in  the  other  direction.  Monica 
Wayne  must  be  persuaded  to  favor  a  divorce  for  her 
own  sake.  I  want  to  get  it  for  her,  but  I  can't  try 
again  to  talk  her  into  it." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  just  the  one  person 
to  do  it." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  think  again,"  said  Hallet. 
"I  — can't." 

His  face  flushed,  and  Sargent  felt  the  color  sweep 
into  his  own  face  as  he  arose  and  turned  towards  the 
cabinet. 

"Have  another  drink,"  he  suggested. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Miss  Elinor  Mitford,  Boothbay  Harbor,  Mdine,  to  Mrs. 
Monica  Wayne,  Dacy's  Harbor,  Gloucester,  Massa 
chusetts. 

MONICA  DEAR: 

You  really  should  have  come  along.  There  is  an  art 
group  here,  and  quite  a  sprinkling  of  highbrows  of  your 
sort,  the  real  folks  who  get  down  to  brass  tacks  and  know 
all  the  latest  scientific  whirls. 

And  you  are  alone  down  there  with  that  booming  surf  — 
and  Aunt  Martha  the  nearest  neighbor! 

Lane  has  neither  come  nor  written,  so  I  don't  know  where 
I  stand.  Aunt  Martha  is  furious,  but  I  could  not  endure  the 
family  circle  another  minute,  and  what  is  the  use  being 
engaged  if  you  never  see  the  man? 

Dear  Cousin  Glyndon  is  still  curious  —  and  suddenly 
devoted  to  "  Cousin  Nellie."  I  have  a  pair  of  earrings  now 
to  match  the  bracelet !  I  have  n't  told  him  a  thing,  but  Aunt 
Martha  is  quite  busy.  I  don't  mean  to  be  a  calamity  howler, 
but  I  do  wish  you  would  not  live  there  alone.  I  am  half 
afraid  of  a  surprise  party  for  you  some  day  in  the  form  of  a 
repentant  husband.  I  don't  know  how  he  would  blossom 
out  as  a  penitent,  but  I  had  the  felicity  (?)  once  of  seeing 
him  when  filled  with  mixed  drinks,  and  on  pleasure  bent, 
"  running  amuck/'  as  it  were,  and  he  certainly  cut  a  wide 
swath!  Aunt  Martha  can't  quite  credit  that  side  of  Glyn, 
because  he  has  charming  moments,  and  she  only  chooses  to 
think  of  those  moments ;  but  I  know  the  other  side,  and  hope 

199 


200  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

you  never  will.    Do  let  the  work  rest  and  come  where  the 
folks  are  alive! 

Nanny  wanted  to  know  if  she  could  get  that  little  sewing 
girl,  Hettie,  as  a  maid,  but  Aunt  Martha  does  not  seem  able 
to  locate  her.  She  has  faded  off  the  map  since  the  death  of 
her  grandfather,  and  Aunt  Martha  evidently  does  not  think 
either  of  them  much  of  a  loss  to  the  coast.  But  if  the  girl 
comes  back,  and  you  care  to  give  her  Nanny's  address,  it 
would  be  appreciated  here.  Her  maid  married  a  husky  life- 
saving  roundsman  and  is  the  belle  of  the  beach  just  now. 

If  you  ever  wrote  letters  I  would  ask  if  any  word  comes 
to  the  Dacy  family  concerning  Lane ;  he  may  be  away,  but  is 
supposed  to  be  writing  himself  famous  again  in  Manhattan. 
You  two  are  equally  difficult  in  different  ways  —  not 
amenable  to  discipline  in  the  family  circle.  Neither  of  you 
seem  to  crave  a  rattling  good  time. 

You  may  get  a  chance  to  work  hard  as  you  like  in  the  next 
incarnation,  so  why  not  take  a  good,  long  breathing  spell  in 
this?  Do  pull  up  anchor  and  join  us.  The  rest  of  the 
children  are  this  minute  framing  a  "  round  robin  "  in  which 
to  forward  the  same  request.  Devotedly, 

NELL. 

The  "  round  robin/'  with  its  circle  of  friendly  names, 
and  several  masterpieces  in  the  way  of  pen-sketched* 
and  pen-blotted  caricatures,  was  taken  from  the 
envelope,  and  Monica  Wayne  smiled  at  the  joyous 
absurdity  of  the  whole. 

Other  mail  slipped  to  the  sand  as  she  re-reud  Nell's 
expressed  fear  of  a  surprise  party.  She  sat  on  the 
great  timber  of  some  ancient  wreck  and  frowned  out 
at  the  open  sea.  For  a  girl  of  twenty-two,  who  had 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  20 1 

lived  a  strange,  half-barbaric  childhood,  and  the 
secretive  shut-in  life  of  girlhood,  the  problems  were 
closing  in,  and  she  would  have  to  face  them  as  she  had 
faced  all  things  —  alone. 

She  re-read  the  lines,  "  But  I  know  the  other  side 
and  hope  you  never  will,"  and  her  smile  was  bitter 
with  unvoiced  memories  and,  gathering  up  the  other 
mail  impatiently,  she  walked  down  to  a  little  boat,  laid 
the  letters  in  and  was  about  to  push  off,  when  a  step 
crunched  the  pebbles  back  of  her  and  a  hand  was  laid 
on  the  gunwale. 

"Allow  me,"  said  the  voice  of  Sargent  beside  her. 
She  shrank  from  him,  and  then  stood  perfectly  still, 
not  turning  towards  him,  or  looking  at  him,  and  the 
color  ebbed  from  her  face,  leaving  her  marble-like. 

The  man  stared  at  her,  amazed  that  she  could  be  so 
startled. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  he  said,  hurriedly,  laying 
his  hand  on  hers.  "  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  you 
did  not  hear  me.  I  waited  until  you  had  finished  your 
letter,  but  feel  like  a  brute  to  startle  you  so." 

"It  is  —  nothing,"  she  said,  moving  a  step  away 
and  leaning  against  the  boat,  while  the  color  swept 
over  her  throat  and  cheek,  leaving  her  girlishly  lovely 
under  the  white  Tam-o'-Shanter.  "It  was  stupid  of 
me;  I  never  knew  I  was  nervous  before.  No,  I  did 
not  know  you  were  here." 

"  I  probably  came  on  the  same  train  bringing  your 
mail,"  he  observed,  picking  up  one  of  the  fallen  letters 


2O2  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

from  the  sand.  u  I  have  been  out  on  the  water  ten  days 
and  ran  into  Gloucester  for  supplies.  I  came  up  for  a 
day  to  see  the  folks,  but  came  too  late  to  find  Nell." 

"She  went  north  last  week  —  and  wrote  you,  I 
believe." 

"I've  been  out  of  touch  with  mail  —  was  writing 
up  some  sea  scenes  and  lived  out  on  the  water  to  do  it. 
I  will  have  the  pleasure  of  letters  waiting  me  in 
Manhattan." 

He  talked  on  easily  and  casually  until  the  trembling 
of  her  hands  had  ceased  and  she  had  regained  her  poise 
somewhat.  He  could  not  but  wonder  at  her  absolute 
fear.  She  had  turned  as  if  to  flee  at  his  approach.  Her 
mind  was  so  filled  by  the  other  picture  conjured  up  by 
the  letter  of  Nell  that  for  an  instant  it  was  as  if  the 
dreaded  thing  had  come  back  out  of  the  old  life  to 
stand  beside  her. 

She  took  the  fallen  letters  from  his  hand,  but  made 
no  attempt  at  conversation,  and  had  not  once  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his.  It  was  not  a  cold  or  resentful  silence 
—  it  was  vibrant  of  the  unexpressed,  and  despite  her 
half-shy  silence  he  could  read  relief  in  her  manner, 
even  though  she  had  drawn  away  from  the  impulsive 
touch  of  his  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Dacy  told  me  you  had  sailed  around  the  reef 
for  your  mail,  and  that  I  might  have  the  good  fortune 
to  find  you  at  the  pier,"  he  said;  "may  I  also  have  the 
good  fortune  to  be  of  service,  and  take  you  back  to 
your  sanctuary  above  the  sea?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  203 

"Take  me  back,  you?"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him 
for  the  first  time,  and  then  laughed  a  bit,  nervously. 
"  It  is  scarcely  worth  the  time  it  would  take,  and  Mrs. 
Dacy  would  think  me  a  pirate  to  carry  off  ther  special 
guest." 

"Then  you  don't  mean  to  invite  me  aboard  your 
craft?"  he  queried,  with  the  desire  to  again  see  the 
smile  in  her  eyes.  She  looked  absurdly  young  in  the 
white  blouse  and  natty  skirt  of  many  buttons.  She 
was  the  girl  of  the  picture,  but  evasive  and  shrinking 
rather  than  the  self-confident  sailor  maid. 

u  To  invite  you  aboard  to  escort  me  home  would 
only  amuse  your  friends,"  she  remarked.  "  I  sail  over 
all  these  waters  alone,  day-time  or  night-time.  In  fact, 
I  think  I  will  leave  the  boat  and  go  back  to  the  house. 
I  want  an  address  for  Nanny  Allen,  and  it  may  be  that 
Mrs.  Dacy  can  help  me." 

There  was,  of  course,  no  reply  to  be  made  to  that; 
he  was  plainly  and  absolutely  barred  out  from  anything 
approaching  cousinship  with  this  cousin  of  Nell's.  It 
would  have  been  amusing  if  —  it  had  been  any  other 
woman. 

He  turned  and  walked  beside  her  up  the  path  wind 
ing  between  huge  boulders.  Few  words  were  spoken 
between  them,  yet,  as  before,  the  silence  was  not  the 
barrier  her  words  had  been. 

He  looked  at  her  face,  half  turned  away,  and  smiled. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  startled  I  was  at  you  that 
first  day  when  you  emerged  from  the  shrubbery  just 


204  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

about  here?"  he  asked.  "I  wish  you  could  help  me 
discover  why  you  seemed  no  stranger.  Was  it  your 
likeness  to  the  drawings,  or  is  it  a  case  of  reincarna 
tion?" 

"  Probably  the  latter,"  she  suggested,  u  in  which  case 
you  should  know  as  much  about  it  as  I." 

"  I  probably  should,  but  have  a  feeling  that  I  don't." 

"  What  an  idea  !" 

"  I  know  so  little  that  my  interest  in  the  subject  has 
never  abated,  while  you  either  know  so  much  that  you 
have  no  curiosity  left,  or  else  the  queries  so  bewildering 
to  me  are  beneath  your  attention." 

''Probably  the  latter,"  she  repeated,  with  a  sudden 
mutinous  flash  of  the  eyes  he  had  thought  of  as  shad 
owed  flames.  u  But  I  fancied  the  reincarnation  reason 
for  things  was  a  trifle  shopworn." 

"After  that  thrust  I  presume  you  would  scorn  to 
look  at  the  special  edition  of  the  little  Twilight 
story,"  he  observed,  "but  I  did  bring  a  copy,  and  there 
is  one  new  illustration." 

"  I  suppose  the  polite  thing  to  say  is  that  I  would  be 
delighted  to  see  it,  and  the  polite  thing  in  this  case 
chances  to  be  the  truth." 

"Really?" 

"  Really.  The  story  is  a  little  gem,  as  you  have 
had  to  hear  very  often.  It  has  all  the  color  of  a  faith 
ful  translation  from  the  Spanish.  There  is  no  sugges 
tion  of  Anglo-Saxon  America  in  it,  which  is  remarkable 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  20 j 

for  an  easterner,  who  merely  passed  through  the  coun 
try,  absorbing  fleeting  impressions." 

"How  did  you  chance  to  know  the  method  of 
work?"  he  asked,  quickly.  She  turned,  mildly 
surprised,  indifferent  eyes  on  him. 

"  Did  not  Mr.  Oilman  make  some  comment  of  that 
sort?"  she  asked,  "  or  was  it  Nell?  Anyway,  jou 
should  live  in  Spain  or  Mexico;  you  have  the  key." 

She  had  grown  more  at  ease  as  they  neared  the 
house,  more  cordial  in  tone  as  their  tete-a-tete  was 
nearing  the  end. 

Thus  he  was  given  at  times  brief  tantalizing  glimpses 
of  the  friendly  spirit  which  her  devotees  affirmed  was 
normally  her  own. 

When  they  reached  the  house  she  suggested  to  Dacy 
that  he  walk  to  the  bungalow  with  her  and  talk  over 
some  improvements  she  was  considering  regarding  the 
property.  Then  after  questioning  Mrs.  Dacy,  with 
out  effect,  concerning  the  little  seamstress,  she  remem 
bered  the  special  edition  of  The  Woman  of  the  Twi 
light  and  graciously  signified  to  Mr.  Sargent  that  she 
would  be  pleased  to  see  it ! 

Without  comment  he  took  from  the  table  the  little 
volume  in  white,  and  gray,  and  silver,  and  opene'd  it  at 
the  frontispiece  of  the  shadow  ship  sailing  out  into  the 
mists  of  the  unknown. 

"How  — Japanese!"  she  remarked  after  a  careful 
inspection,  and  holding  it  at  arm's  length.  "  It  is  beau 
tifully  reproduced.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 


206  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Receiving  no  reply,  she  glanced  up  to  see  him  regard 
ing  her  with  a  puzzled  frown.  It  seemed  incompre 
hensible  to  him  that,  with  her  rather  unusual  acquire 
ments,  she  should  fail  utterly  to  grasp  a  thought  if 
sentiment  entered  into  it,  even  in  an  art  form. 

"  I  have  evidently  said  the  wrong  thing,"  she 
observed  with  a  rueful  smile,  "  but,  after  all,  what  does 
any  ship  mean  until  one  knows  the  cargo  aboard?  This 
one  goes  out  into  the  unknown  and  gives  one  the  feeling 
that  the  end  of  the  trail  is  far  away." 

A  little  later  she  waved  a  light  adieu  to  the  others 
and  Dacy  walked  with  her  over  to  the  bungalow  and 
conferred  on  the  very  trifling  changes  she  had  sug 
gested.  After  a  cup  of  tea  he  left  and  promised  to 
send  a  fisherman  back  with  her  boat;  a  thing  he  was 
always  eager  to  do  rather  than  see  her  sail  it  herself 
through  the  dangerous  waters  and  around  sunken 
reefs. 

He  was  seconded  heartily  in  this  by  Maum  Rosa, 
who,  born  and  reared  inland,  never  looked  but  with 
dread  on  the  tumultuous  sea  and  the  wreckage  in  the 
coves,  telling  their  mute  tale  of  tragedies. 

When  her  boat  rounded  the  reef  an  hour  later,  Mon 
ica  Wayne,  seeing  it,  smiled  at  herself  and  at  the  loss 
of  the  glorious  sail  she  had  counted  upon  that  perfect- 
day —  the  sail  she  had  given  up  rather  than  bring 
back  with  her  the  guest  who  had  so  pointedly  asked  an 
invitation. 

Apparently  she  was  getting  at  least  some  amusement 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  207 

from  the  puzzled  scrutiny  of  the  author  of  Twilight. 
It  never  yet  had  dawned  upon  him  that  she  had  stood 
within  a  few  feet  of  him  in  the  old  plaza  of  San  Juan 
while  her  rage  and  triumph  had  been  voiced  in  no  uncer 
tain  words.  He  had  used  that  episode  in  his  story 
of  the  mission  pueblo,  but  had  given  the  ride  and  the 
action  to  his  Woman  of  the  Twilight,  who  rode  against 
time,  and  swam  the  river,  to  reach  her  lover.  And 
after  using  the  episode  he  had  half  forgotten  that  the 
actual  rider  had  been  the  evil-tempered,  thin-faced 
child  who  taunted  the  Mexican  by  slurs  against  his 
family  circle. 

Yet  continually  she  was  aware  that  when  she  spoke 
to  others  his  ears  were  open  to  her  voice,  and  at  times 
a  quick  turn  of  his  head,  a  more  direct  glance  of  the 
eye,  would  meet  her,  as  if  suddenly  he  had  almost  dis 
cerned  the  link  connecting  her  with  some  forgotten 
life  —  almost,  but  never  quite. 

At  first  when  she  came  to  the  East,  to  the  place  of 
her  mother's  people,  the  pain  and  some  of  the  horror 
of  the  old  life  was  too  new,  too  keen,  to  speak  of.  As 
she  grew  older  and  met  at  every  turn  the  different  cus 
toms  and  different  standards,  she  became  more  and 
more  loath  to  voice  remembrance  of  that  peculiar 
household  where  her  dark  cousins  still  held  sway,  and 
where  her  one  woman  friend  had  been  the  devotee  of 
the  shrine,  and  —  she  knew  now  —  the  central  figure 
in  Sargent's  story. 

She  had  not  as  a  girl  given  a  thought  to  the  fact 


208  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

that  Dona  Carmelita  was,  in  a  way,  a  member  of  the 
family  —  what  would  have  become  of  them  all  if  she 
had  not  been?  But  Sargent's  book  had  been  a  revela 
tion  to  her  of  the  life  hidden  from  her  younger  years. 
She  wondered  as  to  whether  it  had  been  literally  a  true 
story  he  had  written,  or  if  he  had  idealized  and  added 
to  the  romance  or  the  tragedy.  Yet,  much  as  she  appre 
ciated  his  sympathy  and  his  grasp  of  the  life  there, 
she  dared  not  put  forward  a  single  query  lest  it  lift 
the  thin  veil  and  awaken  memory. 

Also,  with  her  own  growing  fame,  it  was  scarcely 
the  time  to  acknowledge,  after  six  silent  years,  that 
she  had  been  a  part  of  the  life  of  Sargent's  Mexican 
village.  And  to  the  people  of  the  East,  who  knew 
that  she  had  lived  at  times  among  the  Mexicans,  it 
never  occurred  that  the  most  Mexican  village  in  which 
she  had  lived  as  a  child  had  been  within  the  California 
state  line. 

She  was  thinking  of  this  as  she  went  slowly  down 
to  the  shore  to  see  that  the  boat  was  made  secure,  and 
at  times  she  cast  a  half  regretful  glance  at  the  sky  and 
the  far,  open  water;  it  was  a  glorious  day  for  a  sail; 
she  felt  cheated. 

And  then,  still  undecided,  she  passed  between  great 
boulders,  shutting  out  sea  and  sail,  and  emerged  at  the 
shore  as  the  boat  ran  into  the  little  cove,  and  the 
canvas  hung  limp  for  a  moment,  hiding  the  sailor  until 
she  was  quite  close,  but  she  halted  in  her  tracks  as  the 
man  sprang  ashore. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  209 

"  Caught !  "  he  remarked,  ruefully.  "  I  assure  you  I 
did  not  mean  to  intrude  on  your  Adamless  Eden  beyond 
guiding  your  boat  to  your  door." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  but  Uncle  Dacy  should 


not—" 


"He  didn't,  I  assure  you,  he  didn't,1'  said  Sargent, 
hastily.  "  He  did  your  bidding ;  got  a  handy  man  to  do 
•lt)  and  — I  bought  him  off!  The  little  coves  of  the 
coast  are  a  temptation,  and  I  was  really  spoiling  for 
this  sort  of  a  sail  —  just  skimming  the  waves  without 
a  time  limit,  or  anyone  expecting  me  at  any  point.  I 
felt  like  a  pirate  stealing  your  boat,  but  since  I  struck 
no  sunken  reefs — " 

"You  might  have,"  and  her  voice  held  a  warning. 
"  It  is  dangerous  to  make  a  first  trip  without  a  sailor 
who  knows  the  coast." 
"But  you  sail  alone!" 

"  I  had  for  a  teacher  an  old  sailor  who  knew  every 
curve  of  the  shore." 

"No  teacher  loomed  on  the  horizon  for  me,"  he 
said,  smiling,  "and  Mr.  Dacy  warned  me  against  your 
sort  of  a  sailor." 

"He  was  above  reproach,  when  sober,"  she  pro 
tested,  warmly,  "but  he  was  pretty  old  and  had  some 
accident  over  on  Squaw  River,  and  never  got  over  it. 
I  was  trying  to  locate  his  granddaughter  this  morning, 
but  she  has  drifted  to  some  other  port,  out  of  reach. 
Aunt  Dacy  has  her  prejudices,  but  poor  old  Craig 


2io  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

could  actually  feel  his  way  in  the  dark  around  these 
reefs,  sober  or  not! " 

"And  you  doubt  me  acquiring  such  seamanship?" 

"  I  doubt  if  it  would  be  worth  your  while  to  attempt 
it  —  here,"  she  said,  demurely,  and  then  as  she  noted 
his  quick,  direct  gaze  she  added,  u  It  is  a  most 
treacherous  coast,  Mr.  Sargent." 

"  It  does  not  look  it,  and  —  it  gives  frank  warning," 
he  replied.  "The  reefs  are  plainly  visible." 

"  Perhaps  not  all,"  she  said.  u  Don't  fancy  this 
smooth  bay  is  typical.  There  is  neither  wind  nor  sea 
enough  to  show  the  white  form  over  the  sunken  reefs. 
It  was  your  lucky  day  that  you  were  not  made  victim." 

"  I  see  you  mean  to  f righen  me  from  making  this 
harbor  again,"  he  observed.  She  smiled,  not  unkindly, 
but  made  no  reply,  and  together  for  the  second  time 
that  day  they  walked  together  up  from  the  water's 
edge  to  the  cliff  above  the  sea. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  she  asked,  politely,  but  he 
smiled,  and  looked  down  at  her,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Thanks,  no,"  and  slight  as  was  the  relief  in  her 
face,  he  saw  it.  "  I  am  really  a  very  bold,  very  per 
sistent  member  of  the  family,"  he  continued,  "  for  I 
wanted  to  give  you  that  special  copy  of  Twilight  arid 
plucked  up  courage  after  you  left  to  bring  it  over. 
Will  you  accept  it,  even  though  I  can't  tell  you  the 
cargo  or  port  of  the  shadow  ship?" 

Taking  it  from  his  pocket  he  held  it  out  to  her,  and, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  211 

after   a   scarcely   perceptible   hesitation,    she   took   it 
gravely,  but  did  not  lift  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  It  is  exquisite.  I  scarcely  know  how  to  thank  you," 
she  said,  her  voice  very  even  and  very  low. 

"  I  will  like  to  think  of  my  Mexican  story  in  the  one 
Mexican  room  on  the  shore,"  and  then  he  looked  at  her 
in  silence  a  moment,  and  his  voice  was  almost  as  low 
and  guarded  as  her  own  as  he  said,  "  No  thanks  are 
due  me,  but — if  I  only  could  be  sure  I  have  not  spoiled 
your  joy  in  your  boat,  or  your  own  little  cove — " 

He  half  extended  his  hand,  but  she  held  the  book  in 
both  hers  and  looked  up  at  him. 

u  Be  sure,"  she  said  in  grave  courtesy,  and  with  one 
long  look  at  her,  he  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  away. 

"Adios,  Senor!"  she  said,  softly,  and  walked  slowly 
up  the  path  under  the  old  trees.  She  halted  at  the  steps 
and  looked  after  him  as  he  swung  around  at  the  turn 
of  the  high,  wild  hedge  and,  looking  back,  lifted  his 

hat. 

She  made  no  answering  gesture,  but  stood  with  the 
book  clasped  in  her  hands.  The  refrain  of  an  old 
Spanish  song  came  to  her,  and  she  hummed  it  as  she 
turned  away. 

"Adios!  adios!  por  siempre  —  adios!" 

She  had  felt  that  sooner  or  later  they  would  be  alone 

with  each  other  and  that  it  would  be  in  a  way  a  test  for 

both.     She  scarcely  dared  think  of  how  strangely  he 

must  regard  her  conservative,  almost  repelling,  man- 


212  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

ner.  The  book  in  her  hand  showed  at  least  that  he 
was  not  resentful;  in  fact,  he  was  big  and  generous, 
and  all  things  desirable,  even  though  he  must  think 
her  a  narrow  prig,  with  not  one  spontaneous,  generous 
instinct. 

Well,  she  told  herself,  she  was  glad  it  was  settled 
and  done  with,  and  before  long  she  would  be  back  in 
the  Manhattan  studio,  and  away  from  the  family  circle 
atmosphere,  where  every  cousin's  sweetheart  had  the 
entree  to  one's  own  little  harbor. 

But  she  sang  little  snatches  of  Spanish  songs  as  she 
worked  that  day,  and  ever  the  recurring  refrain  — 

"Adios!  adlos!  por  siempre —  adios/" 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  the  early  autumn,  Hamilton  Dacy,  instructed, 
warned,  and  encouraged  by  his  wife,  made  his  first 
call  at  the  new  studio  over  which  Monica  Wayne  was 
enthusiastic.  The  light  was  all  it  should  be,  and  the 
gray,  silvery  walls  with  touches  of  black  in  the  panel 
ing  gave  it  a  Japanese  effect  restful  to  the  eye,  and 
offering  admirable  setting  for  the  studies  in  color 
scattered  about. 

He  had  meant  to  see  Monica  early  if  possible,  and 
alone,  and  was  rather  dismayed  at  the  vision  of  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville,  attended  by  Gilman,  preceding  him 
into  the  foyer. 

"You  also  coming  to  look  at  the  new  picture?" 
asked  Gilman,  as  the  door  was  opened  by  Maum  Rosa, 
who  smiled  cordially  at  Mr.  Dacy. 

"  Howdy,  Rosa.  No,  I  came  to  have  a  talk  with  the 
painter  of  it  —  did  not  know  there  was  any  special 
picture  on  view." 

"Yes,"  purred  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  looking  arch 
and  wise,  "Mrs.  Dacy  told  me.  Since  your  family 
artist  allows  no  one  else  to  be  legal  mistress  of  Castle- 
mar,  your  protegee  is  offered  the  position  for  herself ! 
Yours  is  the  task  to  discover  whether  it  is  to  be,  or 

213 


214  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

not  to  be,  husband  or  no  husband,  divorce  or 
reconciliation." 

"  We  have  only  been  back  a  few  days,"  observed 
Dacy,  non-committally.  "  Mrs.  Dacy  evidently  forgot 
this  was  a  show  day  of  any  sort." 

"No,  sir,  'taint  exactly  a  show  day,"  volunteered 
Rosa,  "  only  Miss  Nell  was  to  meet  friends  here.  Miss 
Monica  allowed  to  be  back,  but  she  has  been  detained. 
The  new  picture  is  in  the  music  room,  if  you  all  will 
step  in  and  wait  a  bit." 

McLane  Sargent  entered  and  smiled  at  Dacy,  who, 
truth  to  tell,  did  not  look  glad  to  see  him. 

"Thanks,  Rosa,  I'll  wait  here,"  he  said,  settling 
himself  in  a  comfortable  chair  and  eyeing  Sargent,  who 
was  greeting  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 

"I'll  wait,  too,"  observed  Sargent,  "unless  I  am 
intruding  on  a  special  invitation  affair,"  and  he  glanced 
about  questioningly. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  volunteered  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 
"  I  was  to  meet  Mrs.  Dacy  a  little  later  in  the  mission 
rooms  in  this  building.  Mr.  Oilman  was  good  enough 
to  escort  me.  Mr.  Dacy  is  here,  I  fancy,  in  the  happy 
role  of  peacemaker,  while  you  are  the  only  one 
unaccounted  for! " 

There  was  a  touch  of  sly  malice  in  her  tone,  while 
her  smile  was  one  that  put  Sargent  on  guard  in  a  way 
new  and  not  pleasant. 

He  seated  himself  leisurely  and  smiled  back  at  her. 

"  I  followed  my  friend  Dacy,"  he  said,  amiably.    "  I 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  215 

usually  have  to  follow  someone  to  gain  admittance  to 
this  charming  interior  —  which  does  not  prevent  me 
from  coming  if  I  have  a  vestige  of  an  excuse." 

"So  —  I've  —  observed,"  and  the  long,  blue  eyes 
regarded  him  through  narrowed  lids. 

"So  I've  noticed,"  he  retorted,  lightly. 

"Well,  since  you  are  to  marry  into  her  husband's 
family  you  are  probably  within  the  welcome  circle," 
decided  Oilman,  generously;  but  Sargent  had  crossed 
the  room  and  was  examining  a  small-framed  water 
color  of  a  typical  southern  cottage  of  the  better  sort. 

"That's  a  charming  thing,"  he  observed;  "live 
oaks  draped  with  Spanish  moss  and  a  dwelling  abso 
lutely  covered  with  roses.  Is  it  a  real  place?"  he 
asked,  turning  to  Mr.  Dacy,  who  nodded  his  head  with 
a  baleful  glance  at  the  color  study  and  then  at  Sargent. 

"  It's  Monica's  cottage  down  South  —  all  that's  left 
of  her  mother's  estate.  I  never  saw  it,  but  know  it  is  of 
little  value  —  run  to  seed  and  not  big  enough  to  swing 


a  cat  in." 


"Why  should  she  want  to  swing  cats  in  it?"  asked 
Gilman,  the  latter  squinting  at  the  picture  apprecia 
tively.  "  I  only  hope  the  southern  place  you  are  trying 
to  win  for  me  is  half  as  picturesque." 

"  Picturesque  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Dacy.  "  It  is  a  thou 
sand  acres  and  a  mansion  of  twenty  rooms !  " 

"Have  you  never  seen  it?"  queried  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville,  wonderingly,  and  her  blues  eyes  opened  with 
interest  at  this  description  of  the  estate. 


216  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Never.  My  branch  of  the  family  were  aliens  of 
the  North  and  never  got  a  look-in  after  sixty-one.  But 
if  I  win  the  suit  we  will  have  a  monster  housewarming 
down  there.  So  consider  yourselves  all  bespoken 
for  it" 

"  How  nice,"  she  murmured.  "  I  wonder  if  we  dare 
look  at  the  new  picture  without  being  properly  intro 
duced  to  it?" 

"  It  is  sure  to  be  worth  trying  for,"  he  agreed,  and 
they  moved  towards  the  music  room,  but  the  lady 
halted  at  the  entrance  to  admire  some  embroidered 
hangings  from  Yucatan.  Sargent,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  remained  before  the  little  picture,  regard 
ing  it  curiously.  Some  houses  convey  an  atmosphere  of 
their  own,  and  this  one  had  a  charm  and  even  a  sort 
of  kinship  with  its  owner  —  alluring  beauty  half  hidden 
in  the  gray-green  of  festooned  mosses.  It  was  a  veil, 
suggesting  unseen  beauties  beyond. 

"And  this  is  her  home?"  he  said  at  last. 

The  slight  query  in  the  tone  gave  Mr.  Dacy  the 
chance  he  needed  to  vent  his  impatience  at  the  existing 
state  of  affairs. 

"It's  her  house;  she  never  had  a  home,"  he  stated, 
irritably.  "  Carted  west  in  her  babyhood  by  a  father 
who  was  crazy  over  archaeology.  He  died,  and  Wayne 
was  on  hand  to  comfort  and  play  protector  —  played 
the  devil  doing  it,  too !  This  is  as  much  of  a  home  as 
she  will  ever  have  unless  she  listens  to  reason  and 
compromises.  What's  the  matter  with  you?  She 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  217 

hasn't  a  dollar  except  what  she  earns.  Do  you  want 
to  see  her  next  door  to  beggary  all  her  life  ?  " 

"  But  her  earnings  will  steadily  grow  greater,  and  — 
Hallet  has  spoken  to  you.  He  is  in  earnest.  Even  to 
marry  him  would  be  better  than — " 

"Better!  Of  course,  it  would  be  better;  but  she  is 
as  recklessly  improvident  as  her  father  before  her; 
sinking  good,  hard  dollars  in  Mexican  antiques.  Hal- 
let?  no,  she  will  never  do  so  sensible  a  thing  as  to 
marry  him,  any  more  than  she  would  marry  me,  or 
you!" 

Sargent  turned  away  and  caught  the  glance  of  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville,  who  loitered  at  the  alcove. 

"  I  knew  they  were  quarreling  about  her,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  to  Oilman,  who  slipped  his  hand  through 
her  arm. 

"  Well,  as  they  don't  ask  our  advice  we  can  view  the 
picture,"  he  observed.  "  It  will  give  them  time  to  have 
the  row  over  before  the  hostess  arrives." 

Sargent  watched  them  disappear,  and  then  turned 
to  the  other  man. 

"  Dacy,  you  are  not  going  to  allow  yourself  to  be 
influenced  by  the  family  and  try  to  argue  her  into 
considering  that  damned  business,  are  you?"  he 
demanded,  as  the  others  sat  silent. 

"Which  do  you  consider  damnable?"  he  asked  at 
last,  "  the  divorce  or  the  reconciliation?  " 

"The  latter,  of  course.  See  here,  Dacy,  you  can't 
encourage  it;  you  must  not!  I  know  your  wife  advo- 


2i8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

cates  it;  she  has  some  good  orthodox  ideas  concerning 
the  duty  of  a  wife  —  oh,  I  heard  her  discuss  it  with 
Nell  —  and  it  was  laughable,  laughable  when  you  con 
sider  the  man.  Your  wife  has  no  idea  of  his  real 
life,  but  men  know.  You  know,  and  I  know,  and  if 
she  was  a  sister  of  mine  I  would  rather  see  her  dead 
than  go  back  to  him." 

Mr.  Dacy  looked  more  than  a  little  perturbed,  and 
the  deep  wrinkle  between  his  brows  changed  his  usu 
ally  good-natured  face.  He  tapped  the  arm  of  the 
chair  with  his  finger  tips  as  if  telegraphing  a  message 
for  help  in  a  dilemma. 

"You  appear  greatly  interested,"  he  observed. 

u  I  am,"  returned  Sargent,  briefly. 

"Well,  considering  your  slight  knowledge  of  the 
affair,  I  can't  see  —  but  I  suppose  you  are  working  for 
Hallet?" 

"Hallet's  a  good  fellow,"  said  Sargent,  "and  I 
can't  see,  Dacy,  how  you  can  work  against  the  divorce." 

"  But  the  devil  of  it  is  she  has  refused  the  thought 
of  divorce.  It's  an  awful  affair  to  have  in  the  family," 
he  continued,  miserably,  "but  Monica  makes  it  worse 
by  insisting  he  shall  marry  no  one  but  that  companion 
of  his.  Of  course,  that  is  impossible.  He  wants  to 
get  back  into  society,  and  she  would  never  be  received." 

"  Though  she  is  the  better  of  the  two ! " 

"  Well,  one  of  them  had  to  be  the  better,  and  no  one 
could  easily  be  worse  than  Wayne,"  observed  Dacy, 
somberly. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  219 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Wayne  came  to  them  speaking 
to  someone  in  the  hall,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  men 
met  with  a  sort  of  shock.  It  was  a  moment  for  decision 
and  they  would  no  longer  be  alone  for  quiet  discus 
sion.  Monica  Wayne  was  in  the  music  room  greeting 
the  others,  and  already  they  were  all  approaching  the 
studio. 

"Give  it  up,  won't  you?"  asked  Sargent,  earnestly. 
"  Give  it  up.  Dacy,  you  can't  do  it!  " 

"Are  you  scolding  Uncle  Dacy?"  asked  Monica 
from  the  doorway,  and  she  smiled  as  she  patted  Dacy's 
shoulder  protectingly.  "  Don't  you  allow  him  !  I  have 
observed,"  she  added,  with  a  glance  of  mischief  at  Sar 
gent,  "  that  he  is  a  very  self-willed,  dominating  person, 
unless  one  is  rigidly  severe  with  him." 

"Oh,  Madam  Monica,  I  protest!" 

"Yes,  you  are,"  she  insisted,  "and  the  entire  family 
must  unite  in  some  method  of  discipline  for  the  new 
member,  else  the  flattering  public  may  spoil  him."  She 
was  smiling  as  she  looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder, 
"And  since  to  marry  Nell  will  make  you  a  cousin  of 


mine — " 


"  So  you  have  kindly  reminded  me  before,"  he  ob 
served  in  the  same  light  tone.  "  Is  it  to  include  me  in 
the  family,  or  keep  me  at  a  distance?" 

She  was  removing  a  white  cobweb  veil  from  her 
hat  and  her  face  was  turned  away,  but  the  others 
laughed,  and  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  looked  archly  at 
Sargent. 


22O  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  The  latter,  of  course,"  she  said,  with  mock  severity. 
"Mrs.  Wayne  wouldn't  offer  to  be  even  a  sister  to  a 


man." 


"  I  should  hope  not,"  volunteered  Gilman.  "  Sisters 
we  have  by  the  dozen,  but  a  cousin's  a  different  thing!  " 

"  I  am  sure  this  cousin  will  be  different,"  ventured 
Sargent;  but  Mrs.  Wayne  smiled  without  looking  at 
him,  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  Dacy's  chair. 

"  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  of  that,"  she  remarked,  and  then 
patted  Dacy's  bald  head.  "  What  was  he  doing  to  you, 
you  poor  dear?" 

uOh,  giving  a  lawyer  legal  advice,"  grumbled  Dacy. 
"Offering  me  some  pretty  ideas  from  his  collection." 

"Are  they  to  be  accepted?"  asked  Sargent,  crisply, 
and  the  other  jerked  himself  out  of  the  chair  like  an 
irritable  boy,  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"I  suppose  so,  I  suppose  so.  Confound  the  busi 
ness!  Monica,  I'm  going." 

Monica  Wayne,  amazed,  looked  from  Dacy  to  Sar 
gent,  and  then  back  to  Dacy,  who  halted  in  the  door 
and  said  "  Good  Lord !  "  very  fervently. 

His  wife  was  coming  along  the  hall  and  the  poor 
man  felt  that  he  was  between  the  devil  and  the  very 
deep  sea. 

"It's  no  use,  Martha;  the  case  is  off  the  docket  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  'm  going.  You  air  your  own 
arguments ! " 

McLane  Sargent  grasped  his  hand  heartily,  but  he 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  221 

fairly  broke  away,  while  Mrs.  Dacy  halted  in  the  door, 
staring  after  him  with  decided  disapproval. 

"Well,  of  all  the— " 

"  I  '11  not  be  home  to  dinner,  Martha,"  came  back 
her  husband's  voice  as  he  reached  the  elevator. 

"  I  'm  not  surprised  at  that  decision,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Dacy  as  she  came  slowly  in,  nodded  to  the  others  and 
touched  Monica's  cheek  with  a  little  peck  of  a  kiss. 
"  What  was  he  saying  to  you,  Monica  ?  " 

"  Not  anything." 

"What?" 

Monica,  perplexed,  shook  her  head  but  looked  at 
Sargent,  who,  after  one  quick  glance  at  her,  turned  to 
Mrs.  Dacy  and  drew  forward  a  chair,  into  which  she 
sank. 

Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  smiled  between  half-closed 
lids. 

"  I  have  an  impression  that  Mr.  Sargent  threatened 
him  with  instant  annihilation  if  he  even  made  an 
attempt  to  speak  to  her,"  she  observed.  "  Modern 
chivalry,  eager  to  protect  the  lady  in  the  case  from 
every  man  except — " 

She  halted  at  a  look  from  Sargent  and  made  a  little 
amused  gesture  of  fear,  smiling  archly  at  Gilman  as 
she  did  so. 

Sargent  gave  her  no  further  heed  but  turned  to  Mrs. 
Dacy. 

"  It  is  quite  true  that  I  did  advise  Mr.  Dacy  concern- 


222  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

ing  a  family  matter  and  —  he  has  acted  on  the  advice. 
As  you  and  I,"  he  added,  smilingly,  u  are  to  meet  again 
soon  we  will  have  an  opportunity  to  talk  it  over.  I 
trust  I  have  not  brought  discord  within  your  beautiful 
walls,"  and  he  bowed  to  Monica  Wayne,  who  bent  her 
head  slightly  in  acknowledgment  but  made  no  reply. 
She  still  stood  where  Dacy  left  her,  perplexed  and 
curious. 

4  This  is  all  very  interesting,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
shrug.  "They  come  in  here,  pow-wow  at  each  other, 
and  vanish.  I  seem  to  be  the  only  one  who  does  not 
comprehend  a  word  of  it." 

Mrs.  Dacy  untied  her  bonnet  strings  and  looked  as 
if  she  would  like  to  unfasten  a  collar  for  greater  breath 
to  express  her  exasperation. 

"  I  sent  Hamilton  Dacy  here  with  a  family  letter  — 
you  needn't  go,  Fannie  —  it's  not  so  confidential," 
she  added  as  Gilman  ostentatiously  was  about  to  lead 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  to  the  music  room. 

"The  letter  was  from  Italy,"  she  continued,  and  put 
up  a  hand  in  protest  as  Monica  turned  away  wearily. 
"  It  contained  a  really  touching  plea,  my  dear,  and  —  a 
legal  proposition.  Your  own  establishment,  dear. 
Your  own  in  every  way,  and  an  allowance  that  is 
princely.  Someone  has  told  him  you  have  developed 
into  quite  a  beauty  and  he  was  so  interested  to  hear  it; 
it  really  seems  as  if  he  only  remembers  you  as  a  sort 
of  ugly  duckling.  Well,  the  letter  was  charming  — 
Glyndon  always  did  express  himself  admirably  —  and 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  223 

McLane  Sargent  has  interfered  in  some  way  and  kept 
Hamilton  from  reading  it  to  you." 

Monica  Wayne  looked  at  her  incredulously. 

"Mr.  Sargent  interfered?" 

"You  heard  him.  I  never  knew  a  clever  man  could 
be  so  stupid.  It  would  be  worth  his  while  to  be  nice 
to  Glyndon.  He  and  Elinor  are  full  cousins,  and  his 
wedding  present  would  be  worth  while !  " 

Maum  Rosa  had  just  opened  the  door  for  Miss  Mit- 
ford  and  Tony  Allen,  but  no  one  noticed  their  entrance 
until  the  young  lady  heaved  a  ponderous  sigh,  at  which 
her  aunt  turned  with  a  start  and  viewed  her  with 
displeasure. 

"Wedding  presents,"  breathed  the  bride-elect, 
"haunting  thought." 

"Nonsense!"  said  her  aunt,  sharply.  "If  no  one 
gave  you  any  you  would  be  furious." 

"  No  doubt  you  're  right,"  agreed  the  girl,  remov 
ing  her  hat  and  fluffing  her  fair  hair.  "  How  stunning 
you  look  in  that  garnet  and  white,  Monica !  Waiting 
forme?" 

"No,  I  was  detained  downtown;  only  just  got  in," 
returned  Mrs.  Wayne,  absently  folding  the  veil. 
"  Pardon  me;  I  will  be  back  directly." 

Mrs.  Dacy  watched  her  as  she  went  thoughtfully  out 
and  across  the  music  room  to  her  dressing  room,  where 
Maum  Rosa  waited  for  her.  The  fact  that  Monica 
had  made  no  retort  concerning  Glyndon  was  encour 
aging,  and  Glyndon's  aunt  settled  back  in  her  chair 


224  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

complacently.  It  would  be  a  victory  to  bring  success 
out  of  Hamilton's  failure ! 

"  Monica  seemed  really  impressed  by  what  I 
revealed  to  her,"  she  said  aside  to  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville.  "Elinor,  I  thought  Lulu  was  with  you  and 
Tony." 

Miss  Mitford,  who  was  viewing  her  own  unfinished 
portrait  from  various  angles,  smiled  at  the  obvious 
suggestion  that  even  Lulu  as  a  chaperone  might  assist 
the  proprieties. 

"  She  was  with  us  until  we  met  Joe,"  was  the 
serene  reply,  at  which  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  sighed 
impatiently. 

"That  boy  again!  Not  but  what  he  is  a  dear  boy, 
of  course,"  she  added,  "and  I  suppose  it  is  regarded 
as  all  right  over  here,  but  on  the  other  side  I  would 
not  dream  of  allowing  her  to  walk  alone  with  a  young 
man!" 

"They  don't  dream  about  it  here,  dear  lady,"  said 
Tony  Allen,  who  was  adjusting  the  easel  for  the  por 
trait.  "They  just  saunter  along,  wide  awake!" 

"That's  it,"  retorted  Oilman ;  "youth  today  has  no 
illusions.  Logic  is  cultivated  and  Romance  hides  her 
head!" 

"I  really  can't  see,"  observed  Mrs.  Dacy  as  she 
arose  to  look  at  the  picture,  "  why  you  persist  in  seek 
ing  romance  when  you  are  so  certain  it  can't  be  found." 

"All  the  fault  of  the  —  ah  —  scientist  who  examined 
this,"  announced  Tony,  extending  his  hand  in  mock 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  22$ 

blessing  above  Oilman's  head.  uHe  really  got  you 
into  trouble,  Oilman: — spoiled  a  good  reporter.  You 
have  never  done  a  day's  work  since." 

"What,"  demanded  Oilman,  with  a  tragic  scowl, 
"not  work!  I  don't  have  to  chase  the  almighty  dollar 
now,  but  what  about  my  notes  —  twelve  books?  Little 
you,  frivolous  idler,  know." 

"He  doesn't  know  a  thing  about  it,  Gillie,"  said 
Miss  Mitford,  soothingly.  "  But  why  don't  you  select 
a  theme  to  string  all  those  good  things  on?  Condense 
your  twelve  books  into  one,  and  give  the  public  a 
treat?" 

"  Great  idea,"  agreed  Oilman,  beaming  under  her 
interest.  "I've  thought  of  it.  IVe  studied  thor 
oughly  for  three  months  the  construction  of  the  drama, 
with  that  very  end  in  view." 

"All  that  time?"  asked  Tony,  but  Oilman  ignored 
the  flippant,  and  directed  his  discourse  to  the  lady. 

"  I  am  only  delayed  now  by  one  obstacle,  apparently 
a  trifle,  yet  still  an  obstacle.  Got  all  the  good  things 
in  these  little  books,  and  am  at  present  looking  for  a 
character  good  enough  to  say  them  all." 

"  Oh,  my  genius !  "  grinned  Tony.  "We  '11  all  be  so 
proud  to  know  you  —  some  day!  " 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Gillie." 

"N  —  there  are  some  of  us  who  don't  mean  to  wait 
until  some  day,"  said  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  sweetly, 
and  Gilman  promptly  seated  himself  beside  her,  and 
continued  to  beam  under  appreciative  eyes. 


226  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  My  prophetic  soul  assures  me  you  would  prove 
adorable  —  even  as  a  mother-in-law,"  he  confided  to 
her,  and  Tony  sat  up  very  straight  and  stared,  and 
then  followed  Nell  into  the  music  room. 

"For  the  love  of  Kelly!  which  of  the  two  is  he  the 
lottery  ticket  for?  I  thought  it  was  herself." 

"So  it  is,  unless  there  is  higher  game  in  sight," 
answered  the  girl,  bluntly.  "  She  means  to  win  Gillie, 
and  his  money,  somehow  —  you'll  see.  Of  course,  if 
Monica  gets  a  divorce  she  still  has  hopes  of  Glyndon 
—  though  she  pretends  she  is  horribly  shocked  by  his 
duplicity  —  Fannie  Smith  shocked,"  and  she  smiled  at 
the  idea.  "  She  would  hand  Lulu  over  to  either  of 
those  men,  and  take  the  other  herself  if  it  could  be 
managed." 

"But  Oilman— " 

"  Is  a  goose,  a  dear  goose.  Fannie  is  already  inti 
mating  that  Lulu,  dear  child,  thinks  him  ideal.  Lulu 
doesn't,  but  Lulu  has  learned  not  to  say  so.  She  is 
more  than  afraid  of  being  taken  back  to  Europe,  and 
Gillie  would  be  better  than  that.  Oh,  there  is  a  lot 
going  on  that  you  don't  see." 

"  Naturally,  when  looking  at  you." 

"Well!  that's  the  limit  for  today,"  said  the  young 
lady,  pettishly,  crashing  her  fingers  into  the  piano  keys 
and  starting  a  rattling  military  quickstep.  "When 
looking  at  me  there's  nothing  visible  to  the  naked 
eye." 

"Oh,  see  here,"  began  Tony,  but  she  turned  her 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  227 

head  defiantly  and  gave  all  her  attention  to  the 
kettledrum  part  of  the  orchestration. 

"  Can't  see  —  my  own  sight  is  bad,"  she  stated  at 
last. 

"But  I  didn't  mean—" 

"Oh,  didn't  you?  You've  been  actually  rude  all 
morning." 

"Why,  Nell!—" 

"  Yes,  you  have,  too.  You  joked  and  made  game  of 
wedding  presents,  and  —  and  had  no  regard  for  my 
feelings  at  all." 

"Nell,  I  never—" 

"Didn't  you  suggest  a  *  crazy  room'  for  the 
duplicates  and  undesirable?  and  didn't  you — " 

"Oh,  damn!"  growled  Tony,  in  utter  exasperation. 
"I'm  tired  of  this  and  shall  leave  town  tomorrow!" 

"Elinor,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy,  as  the  two  emerged 
from  the  music  room  after  a  final  crash  on  the  keys. 
"  I  should  think  you  get  quarreling  enough  in  your 
disagreements  with  McLane  Sargent  —  for  an  engaged 
couple!"  and  her  expression  suggested  that  words 
failed.  The  other  two  smiled  at  each  other.  Nell 
caught  them  at  it  and  was  even  more  furious.  She 
flounced  back  into  the  music  room  with  a  scornful 
glance  at  Tony,  but,  for  once,  it  did  not  reduce  him  to 
humility  as  usual.  He  walked  over  to  the  piano  and 
talked  to  her  back  when  she  whirled  on  the  piano  stool. 

"I  mean  it,"  he  said,  quietly.  "You've  had  time 
enough  to  decide.  I  '11  go  tomorrow.  You  can  come 


228  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

with  me  if  you  will,  but  I  shan't  ask  you.  You  know 
where  you  belong.  You  decide." 

Then  he  walked  from  the  alcove  to  Mrs.  Dacy. 

"  I  'm  taking  a  run  out  of  town,  and  she  will  only 
have  a  luckier  man  to  quarrel  with,"  he  said.  "  Good- 
by,  I'll  not  wait  for  Mrs.  Wayne;  she'll  forgive  me." 

He  nodded  to  the  other  two  and  in  three  strides 
was  out  of  the  door.  Miss  Mitford  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  seated  herself  petulantly  in  the  model 
chair. 

"  It 's  horrible  to  be  afflicted  by  a  temper  like 
Tony's,"  she  remarked.  No  one  made  any  comment, 
which  she  regarded  as  impolite. 

"Where  is  that  lady  of  the  paint  brushes?"  she 
demanded  at  last.  "I  came  to  look  pretty  for  my 
picture." 

Gilman  had  sauntered  to  the  window,  looking  down 
into  the  street,  and  chuckled  as  the  strains  of  a  hand 
organ  came  up  to  him. 

"There  are  your  lost  cherubs,"  he  remarked,  and 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  uttered  a  little  cry  of  protest  as 
she  glanced  the  way  he  pointed. 

"Horrors!  Lulu  and  that  boy  following  a  hand 
organ." 

"  But  they  are  only  listening  with  the  children  on 
the  sidewalk,"  said  Gilman,  soothingly.  He  thought  it 
looked  very  childlike  and  unsophisticated,  and  was 
making  a  note  in  the  little  red  book. 

But  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  failing  in  her  efforts  to 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  229 

attract  their  attention,  started  with  determination  for 
the  hall. 

"  They  are  quite,  quite  capable  of  dancing  with  the 
children  on  the  sidewalk,"  she  said,  complainingly,  and 
Oilman  picked  up  his  hat. 

"I  shall  follow,  to  —  to  protect  them,"  he  ventured, 
lamely.  "She  doesn't  like  independence  for  women." 

"Not  for  other  women!"  retorted  Miss  Mitford, 
whose  temper  was  not  inclined  to  charity,  and  who 
expected  a  lecture  from  her  aunt  the  minute  they  were 
alone. 

But  whatever  the  intentions  of  the  lady  might  have 
been,  they  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs. 
Wayne,  who  had  changed  her  street  dress  to  a  work 
ing  robe  of  white,  over  which  was  thrown  a  long  gown 
or  apron  of  scarlet;  a  sort  of  elaboration  of  the  Yuca 
tan  native  dress  in  that  it  was  of  one  piece  of  thin 
material  and  enveloped  her,  hanging  in  straight 
sculpturesque  lines  to  her  feet,  and  fastened  under  the 
arms  by  a  lacing  of  cord. 

She  carried  a  prepared  palette  and  brushes  and 
glanced  around,  noting  the  absence  of  the  others,  but 
made  no  comment. 

"Well,  you  must  have  gone  into  a  trance,"  remarked 
Nell,  "but  you  have  come  out  of  it  looking  lovely. 
The  rest  have  all  faded  away." 

;<Yes,  I  was  talking  to  Tony  in  the  dining  room. 
He  came  back  to  say  good-by." 

"  Oh,  indeed.    Say,  Monica,  that  red  work  apron  or 


230  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

gown,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  is  great.  I  wonder  if  I 
could  not  have  an  opera  cloak  on  those  lines,  fastened 
on  the  shoulder?" 

"  Probably,  but  it  would  never  be  popular  with 
dressmakers  —  too  simple." 

Mrs.  Dacy  regarded  her  approvingly  as  she  looked 
up  from  a  little  list  she  was  making  of  items  to  be 
attended  to  —  that  is,  as  approvingly  as  she  could  pos 
sibly  look  on  a  woman  of  the  Wayne  family  in  a  work 
ing  garb.  She  was  already  making  mentally  little 
social  plans  for  the  day  when  the  Glyndon  Waynes 
would  entertain  as  a  woman  of  the  name  should. 

She  decided  to  use  her  influence  against  the  con 
tinuance  of  this  chummy  studio  atmosphere  apparently 
favored  by  Monica,  or  at  least  condoned  by  her.  It 
was  all  very  well  for  the  relatives,  but  Monica  did  not 
apparently  mind  Tony  or  Oilman  dropping  in  any  free 
hour,  and  if  the  door  was  closed  to  one  it  was  closed 
to  all. 

But  Glyndon,  of  course,  would  not  allow  his  wife  to 
retain  a  separate  studio  where  such  freedom  could  be 
given  —  that  would  be  one  comforting  thought.  It 
had  been  quite  a  task  for  the  family,  that  is  for  Mrs. 
Dacy,  to  keep  up  the  pretense  that  Mrs.  Wayne  was' 
merely  an  enthusiast  on  all  ecclesiastical  art  work,  and 
was  devoting  her  days  to  it  irrespective  of  the  prices 
to  be  earned;  in  fact,  more  than  one  acquaintance  was 
left  under  the  impression  that  the  long  months  spent 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  231 

by  Monica  in  Spain  or  in  Old  Mexico  were  actually 
lived  somewhere  on  the  continent  with  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Dacy  had  a  way  of  saying,  "I  really  don't 
know  where  they  are  just  now.  Monica  sent  Elinor  a 
pretty  scarf  from  Spain  lately,  but  there  are  so  many 
points  of  interest  to  be  seen  and  not  much  time  for 
letters." 

Which,  of  course,  was  all  perfectly  true,  and  bold 
would  be  the  one  who  could  ask  bluntly,  "But  are 
they  living  together?" 

So  she  had  a  complacent  feeling  as  she  watched 
Monica  silently  posing  Nell,  nodding  approval  and 
touching  the  canvas  with  strokes,  now  sure,  now 
doubtful,  but  ever  with  a  thoughtful,  absorbed  look, 
not  conducive  to  conversation  —  and  Miss  Mitford 
was  a  bit  thoughtful  herself. 

Mrs.  Dacy  stood  the  silence  until  she  had  penciled 
the  last  little  item,  and  then,  folding  her  tablets,  fast 
ened  her  bonnet  strings  preparatory  to  leaving.  She 
was  a  bit  ostentatious  in  her  endeavor  to  attract  the 
attention  of  Monica,  but  without  avail.  It  was  the 
artist  now,  and  not  a  hostess,  who  had  eyes  only  for  the 
model  and  the  canvas. 

"Well,  Monica?"  said  Mrs.  Dacy  at  last. 

"Well?"  but  she  did  not  look  up  from  her  work. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do?"  queried  the  other, 
with  as  mild  a  mien  as  an  irritated  lady  could  assume. 

"I   mean  to  keep  on  at  this  portrait  if   fortune 


favors  me." 


232  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  concerning  Glyndon's 
letter?" 

"That  is  about  as  tiresome  a  subject  as  you  could 
carry  around  with  you."  The  smile  of  Monica  was 
rather  weary  and  there  was  a  rebellious  look  in  the 
deep  eyes.  "  I  have  no  moments  left  to  think  of  your 
nephew,  Aunt  Dacy.  He  made  his  choice  years  ago, 
and  I  am  happy  to  abide  by  it." 

"How  can  you  be  so  relentless?  And  if  he  is  truly 
repentant  for  leaving — " 

"For  leaving?"  and  Monica  turned  on  her  with  a 
strange  look.  "Have  you  ever  had  the  fancy  that  I 
held  the  slightest  feeling  of  resentment  for  that? 
Well,  I  '11  probably  shatter  a  fond  illusion,  but  I 
danced  for  joy  the  day  he  went  away.  I  'd  rather  live 
my  life  with  a  Digger  Indian!" 

"Monica!" 

"  It's  for  marrying  me  I  can't  forgive  him." 

"  Can't  forgive  a  man  for  falling  in  love  with  you?  " 
asked  Nell. 

"Love!"  repeated  the  other,  but  there  was  more 
disgust  than  sentiment  in  her  tone. 

"  Monica,  you  '11  be  unhappy,"  decided  the  girl,  with 
frowning  owl-like  wisdom.  "You  expect  too  much  of 
humanity." 

"That  is  true,"  agreed  Mrs.  Dacy,  glad  of  this 
unlocked  for  assistance.  "All  men  have  to  be  forgiven 


some  sins." 


'And  all  women  are  ready  to  forgive  them  —  sins 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  233 

against  other  women,"  she  observed,  with  a  smile  of 
contempt. 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy,  solemnly, 
"  if  you  never  forgive,  how  can  you  possibly  hope  for 
forgiveness?" 

"Well,  since  you  make  it  a  personal  question," 
retorted  Monica,  desperately,  "I  do  not!" 

"  Monica !  "  and  Nell  forgot  her  pose. 

"  Not  hope  for  forgiveness  of  sins  1 "  and  the  voice 
of  Mrs.  Dacy  was  most  grave.  Monica  saw  the  best 
light  of  the  day  going  while  they  decided  her 
heterodoxy. 

"  I  do  not,"  she  stated,  wearily.  "  Nell,  do  get  back 
into  position;  also  I  never  expect  to  be  too  much  of  a 
coward  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  my  own  acts. 
If  I  do  an  injustice  to  —  to  John  Jones  —  I'll  go 
squarely  and  make  amends  if  I  can,  or  to  Mrs.  Jones 
and  the  little  Joneses  in  case  I  Ve  slaughtered  Johnny ! 
That's  my  idea  of  atonement  instead  of  asking  for 
giveness  of  some  unseen  lawmaker.  My  sins  will  have 
to  rest  on  my  own  head;"  and  then,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Dacy,  she  added,  mischievously,  "  I  shan't  even  lay 
the  blame  of  them  on  your  dear,  long-cherished, 
overworked  —  devil! " 

She  dropped  her  voice  in  the  mockery  of  fear  as  she 
whispered  the  final  word,  and  laughed  at  the  horror  in 
Mrs.  Dacy's  face. 

"  Monica  !  "  cried  that  extremely  shocked  lady.  "  I 
am  confident  that  if  any  judge  on  the  bench  heard 


234  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

those  sentiments  of  yours,  Glyndon  Wayne  would  be 
granted  a  divorce  without  question.  You  would  be 
considered  a  wicked  woman.  I  am  positively  afraid  to 
think  of  your  future  life." 

"It's  provided  for,"  said  Monica,  with  a  certain 
impish  delight.  "  Is  it  not  written  that  the  incredulous 
wife  may  be  saved  by  the  faith  of  the  husband?  Well, 
in  that  case,  I  am  quite  secure  so  long  as  I  object  to  a 
divorce,  for  my  husband  is  quite  orthodox,  a  perfect 
Solomon  in  his  general  tendencies — " 

She  ceased  speaking  and  laughed  as  Mrs.  Dacy  gath 
ered  up  her  shocked  dignity  and  walked  out  of  the 
room.  Nell  looked  at  Monica  with  a  certain  astonish 
ment;  not  so  much  at  the  words  as  at  her  manner. 
She  had  never  before  seen  her  in  this  attitude  of  reck 
less  mischief  crossed  by  somber  defiance  against  popu 
lar  opinion,  and  she  wondered  if  this  was  what  Glyn 
meant  when  he  mentioned  her  in  his  letter  as  a 
"  scrawny,  evil-tempered  young  imp "  ?  Nell  had 
never  seen  any  evidence  of  her  evil  temper,  but  she 
could  imagine  any  sort  of  temper  back  of  the  gay 
insolence  by  which  Mrs.  Dacy  had  been  sent  shocked 
and  protesting  from  the  room. 

;' You  are  smashing  Aunt  Martha's  dearest  hopes  to 
smithereens,"  she  observed. 

"  If  so  she  will  probably  not  trouble  me  again  con 
cerning  her  pet  nephew,  and  we  may  get  a  bit  of  work 
done.  This  has  been  the  most  awful  day!  Makes 
one  wonder  what  planets  are  whirling  the  wrong  way 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  235 

for  this  little  group  of  people;  also  it  decides  me  I 
can't  allow  the  open-door  more  than  once  in  three 
months." 

"Oh,  well,  it  couldn't  be  as  bad  as  this  again/'  said 
Nell,  consolingly.  "You  see  everyone  is  coming  back 
to  town  at  once  and,  of  course,  wants  to  see  you,  and 
this  word  from  Glyn  has  stirred  them  all  up  more  or 
less.  He  is  the  moneyed  one  of  the  family  now  —  and 
listen,  Monica,  if  you  won't  make  up  with  him,  why 
not  apply  for  the  divorce  and  let  him  go  ?  That  little 
fancy  for  Lulu  was  only  a  flash  in  the  pan,  and  I  guess 
Fannie  lit  the  fire  and  did  all  the  blowing.  I  know  by 
Glyn's  letters  the  fire  is  dead  and  the  fancy  gone.  Don't 
let  yourself  be  tied  to  him  on  account  of  anyone.  Let 
the  other  women  look  after  themselves  —  you  are  not 
your  sisters'  keeper." 

"No,"  agreed  Monica,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness, 
"no  one  seems  to  be." 

"  Oh,  don't  get  deadly  serious  over  it,  or  you  '11  land 
in  the  suffragette  ranks,  and  all  life  will  be  one  grand, 
sweet  row,"  warned  Nell.  "  Fannie  is  earnestly  con 
sidering  it  just  now  with  a  view  to  the  social  ladder, 
and  if  she  can  only  land  money  enough  she  will  go  up 
quite  a  few  rungs  —  now  what's  this?" 

It  was  Mr.  Dacy,  leading  Lulu,  who  looked  like  a 
caught  truant,  yet  smiled  at  her  captor. 

"Another  law  case  to  settle,"  he  announced,  point 
ing  to  her  as  to  a  terrible  example.  "  Insubordination ! 
Threatens  she  will  elope  with  the  first  man  who  asks 


236  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

her  unless  she  is  allowed  to  follow  organ-grinders  and 
generally  misbehave." 

"  Why,  Lulu  !  "  But  the  chiding  of  Monica  Wayne 
was  so  kindly,  and  her  smile  so  fond,  that  Lulu  found 
all  the  encouragement  she  needed  to  state  her  case. 

"It  wasn't  the  organ  grinder;  it  was  Joe  she  was 
hitting  at,"  she  burst  out,  wrathfully.  "If  Joe  had  as 
much  money  as  she  thinks  Mr.  Oilman  is  going  to  have, 
there  wouldn't  be  such  a  row  about  it.  I  will  run  off 
and  marry  him,  you  '11  see  !  " 

Monica  and  Nell  tried  to  look  grave  at  this  avowal, 
but  failed.  In  the  midst  of  their  merriment  Mr.  Dacy 
held  up  his  finger  warningly. 

"  You  know  what  your  mama  threatened." 

"  What  was  threatened?  "  asked  Monica. 

"  Oh,  mama  tried  to  scare  me  by  saying  the  law 
would  allow  her  to  put  a  man  in  jail  if  he  eloped  with 
me  before  I  was  of  age.  Could  she?" 

"If  he  married  you,  yes.  That  would  be  ' kidnap 
ping  a  minor'  by  the  law." 

"Even  if  I  wanted  to  go?"  demanded  Lulu,  sulkily. 
But  Dacy  shook  his  head,  smiling  at  her  teasingly. 

"  The  wishes  of  a  minor  would  not  be  considered. 
You  could  not  marry  legally,  any  more  than  you  could 
dispose  of  property  legally,  until  you  are  of  age." 

"  I  have  no  property  now,"  said  Lulu,  with  a  slight 
grimace;  and  they  all  knew  that  she  might  have  had  if 
her  father's  trust  in  his  pretty  new  wife  had  not  been 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  237 

so  absolute.  The  trips  abroad  had  eaten  up  the  very 
modest  competence. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Dacy,  not  inclined  to  linger  over 
this  subject,  "  we  will  say  then  your  doll,  or  a  ring  from 
your  finger." 

"Why,  I  haven't  had  a  doll  for  a  whole  year!" 
burst  out  Lulu,  rather  aggrieved  that  he  could  not 
perceive  the  doll  days  were  passed.  "Joe  in  jail  if  he 
marries  me!  But  mama  will  marry  me  to  one  of  her 
pets  if  I  don't  elope,  you'll  see!"  Then  a  brilliant 
idea  suggested  itself,  and  she  flashed  it  on  the  surprised 
lawyer. 

"  Suppose,  suppose  I  ran  away  with,  with  someone, 
and  he  refused  to  marry  me  until  I  was  of  age,  then 
what?" 

Mr.  Dacy  looked  uncomfortable,  and  Nell  giggled 
at  his  embarrassment. 

"Well,"  demanded  the  terrible  child,  "would  that 
be  'kidnaping  a  minor  by  the  law'  ?" 

"N  —  no,"  replied  Mr.  Dacy,  wishing  himself  well 
out  of  it;  "  it  would  not  be  exactly  kidnaping." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  that  would  be  murder  and  sudden 
death,"  said  Lulu,  wrathfully.  "Well,  I  hope  there  is 
no  particular  penalty  against  me  dying  an  old  maid." 

Nell  laughed  heartily,  as  she  flounced  out  of  the 
studio,  but  Monica  looked  at  Mr.  Dacy. 

"Why  did  you  not  answer  her  question,  Uncle 
Dacy?" 

"How  could  I?    The  law  varies  in  different  states. 


238  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Until  a  comparatively  recent  date  the  New  York  law 
held  that  if  there  was  no  marriage  there  was  no  crimi 
nal  case  against  the  man.  He  would  not  be  the  one 
held  responsible.  The  same  law  holds  in  thirty-six 
states  today.  It  is  not  a  thing  you  can  easily  explain 
to  a  child." 

Nell  forgot  her  pose,  and  Monica  forgot  her 
painting  as  she  stared  at  him. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  in  any  of  our  states  today  the 
law  imposes  a  penalty  if  a  man  marries  a  girl  under 
age  without  consent  of  guardian,  but  protects  that 
same  man  and  throws  the  blame  on  her  if  he  wins 
her  away  under  any  pretense,  any  promise,  and  does 
not  marry  her?" 

'Yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Dacy,  uncomfortably.  "If  she 
is  over  ten,  or  twelve,  or  sixteen,  and  goes  of  her  own 
will.  The  age  limit  varies  in  different  states." 

"But  this  seems  so  incredible!"  she  persisted.  "A 
child  who  could  not  legally  dispose  of  her  own  doll 
or  a  ring  from  her  finger !  An  American  law  that  with 
draws  protection  from  a  girl  years  before  it  acknowl 
edges  her  as  mentally  capable  of  protecting  her  own 
interests!  Then  it  is  not  childhood  and  womanhood 
the  law  is  meant  to  protect,  but  property  and  —  the 
men  who  make  such  laws ! " 

"But  Monica—" 

"Oh,  Uncle  Dacy,"  she  interrupted,  "you  have  no 
daughters.  Evidently  none  of  the  statesmen  who 
framed  those  laws  had  daughters,  or  sisters,  either!" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  239 

"Monica,  you  don't  understand!  The  average 
woman  has  no  idea  of  the  reasons,  the  technicalities, 
the—" 

"The  average  woman  does  not  know  such  laws 
exist.  If  she  did  she  would  be  justified  in  contempt  for 
every  court  in  the  land  where  girlhood  was  not  pro 
tected.  Oh,  their  wise  laws,  the  laws  to  protect  the 
criminal  —  the  laws  it  is  virtue  in  a  man  to  break!" 

"  Good  Lord,  Monica  !  "  burst  out  the  harassed  gen 
tleman.  "All  this  sounds  as  if  you  had  turned  into  a 
suffragette  over  night !  " 

"  I  have  no  time  for  politics,  and  a  bit  of  driftwood 
like  me  can't  always  anchor  long  enough  to  vote,"  she 
replied,  "  but  this  revelation  has  shocked  me  into  won 
der  that  women  do  not  take  up  that  issue  and  carry  it 
on  their  banners  in  every  state  where  such  laws  exist." 

"I  guess  it's  just  as  well  you  keep  out  of  their 
ranks,"  he  observed,  mopping  his  brow.  "You'd  be 
dynamite  let  loose  among  the  doves.  A  good  day  to 
you !  This  is  my  last  call  until  tomorrow,"  and,  shak 
ing  his  head,  he  passed  into  the  hall  and  congratulated 
himself  on  at  least  one  piece  of  good  luck  —  as  he  was 
going  down  in  the  elevator  he  passed  Mrs.  Dacy  in 
another  one  going  up ! 

He  did  not  believe  his  wife  had  ever  heard  of  the 
law  under  discussion,  and  it  was  just  as  well.  He 
thanked  his  lucky  stars  that  she  did  not  interest  herself 
in  law.  Monica  was  quite  enough  to  contend  with  — 
she  was  prone  to  unexpected  and  most  erratic  opinions. 


240  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

It  was  very  disconcerting.  She  did  not  seem  to  have 
the  regard  she  should  for  any  of  the  established  rules. 
He  presumed  it  was  because  of  her  youth  having  been 
lived  in  those  lawless  Spanish- American  districts  —  a 
very  awkward  addition  to  a  New  England  family! 
Much  as  he  liked  Monica,  he  was  not  always  comfort 
able  with  her;  her  mental  attitude  towards  many  things 
was,  to  put  it  mildly,  peculiar.  That  decision  of  hers 
about  the  divorce  was  a  case  in  point.  He  fully  agreed 
with  his  wife  that  it  would  be  the  crowning  scandal  to 
have  Glyndon  Wayne  marry  the  woman  he  went 
abroad  with. 

At  times  Dacy  considered  that  the  family  had  almost 
a  grievance  against  Sargent  for  that  peculiar  Mexican 
story.  If  it  had  not  been  written,  he  wondered  if  Mon 
ica  would  have  been  aroused  to  take  that  attitude  about 
the  woman  in  the  case.  In  several  ways  she  was 
becoming  difficult  to  understand.  She  was  not  quite 
the  care-free  comrade  she  had  been  only  a  summer 
ago.  After  all  her  work  on  that  bungalow  he  noticed 
that  she  had  grown  restless,  and  he  would  not  be  at  all 
surprised  if  it  was  put  on  the  market  before  another 
year  went  by.  He  wished  with  all  his  heart  she  would 
do  the  sensible  thing  any  other  woman  would  do  — 
accept  Wayne's  settlement  and  live  rationally  in  the 
same  house  with  him  for  the  sake  of  appearances.  Her 
attitude  was  absurd  in  the  extreme,  and  he  was  the 
more  assured  of  the  absurdity  of  it  as  he  left  her  studio 
with  her  other  absurd  idea  fresh  in  his  mind.  Of 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  241 

course,  a  man  could  not  argue  such  cases  with  a  girl 
like  that,  they  were  usually  so  illogical;  but  if  Monica 
interested  herself  at  all,  she  was  more  than  illogical  — 
she  had  no  respect  for  any  institution  simply  on  the 
grounds  of  its  acceptance  by  the  majority.  It  had  to  be 
weighed  and  measured  in  her  own  scales;  in  fact,  she 
was  dangerously  near  to  being  anarchistic,  and  a  girl 
like  that  is  a  firebrand  in  a  family.  He  wished  she  was 
safely  settled  in  life. 

In  fact,  she  made  him  think  of  her  all  the  way  down 
to  his  club,  and  he  wished  he  had  left  Lulu  to  her  fate 
with  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  for  that  child  was  constantly 
getting  one  into  hot  water.  He  could  see  that  Monica 
had  been  more  than  a  little  impressed  by  that  age  limit 
question.  At  any  rate,  he  could  thank  the  gods  that 
she  was  not  a  suffrage  worker.  He  was  convinced  that 
enough  women  of  that  temperament  would  undermine 
the  constitution  of  the  United  States  if  ever  they 
arrived  at  organization,  for  which,  of  course,  they  were 
mentally  and  emotionally  unfit 

Mrs.  Dacy  passed  Rosa  at  the  door  and  hastened 
along  the  hall  to  the  studio,  where  Monica  was  taking 
all  advantage  possible  of  the  light  remaining. 

"Can  I  get  a  pencil  here?"  she  asked.  "I've 
broken  mine  and  am  in  a  dilemma ;  or  will  you  write  a 
line  for  me  on  this  card?  Gloves  make  it  difficult." 

Monica  took  a  pencil  from  the  shelf  of  the  easel  and 
the  visiting  card  from  Mrs.  Dacy. 

"Just  *  regret  that  I  must  postpone  meeting  until 


242  The  IV oman  of  the  Twilight 

tomorrow,  11:30,'"  she  suggested.  "Thanks,"  she 
said,  as  Monica  wrote  the  desired  message.  "  I  made 
two  engagements  for  the  same  hour,  and  as  one  is  a 
foreign  mission  affair  I  must  postpone  the  other." 

"Will  you  have  tea?     Rosa  is  bringing  it  in  now." 

"  No,  I  am  having  tea  in  the  mission  rooms  with 
Fannie  and  Lulu,  but  I  will  get  Rosa  to  fasten  my 
boot;  the  lace  is  untied."  Then  she  glanced  at  the  pic 
ture  on  the  easel.  "It  is  lovely,"  she  conceded,  "but  I 
am  angry  with  you;  your  ideas  are  simply  shocking." 

Monica  smiled  after  the  lady  as  she  went  out 
through  the  music  room  to  find  Rosa. 

"  I  wish  they  would  all  become  so  angry  that  they 
would  allow  me  to  get  some  work  done,"  she  observed. 
"  Your  next  day  to  pose  I  shall  tack  a  large  placard  on 
the  door,  '  Not  at  home  to  the  family.'  You  are  the 
honey  around  which  the  flies  all  buzz,  and  I  can't  be 
interrupted  —  oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hallet?  Glad 
to  see  you." 

She  and  Nell  exchanged  amused  glances  as  Hallet 
entered,  followed  by  Sargent.  She  shook  hands  with 
Hallet  and  nodded  to  Sargent  almost  without  looking 
at  him  and  laid  aside  the  brushes  as  Rosa  entered 
with  the  tea  tray. 

While  Hallet  crossed  to  Nell  and  looked  at  the  por 
trait,  Sargent  halted  at  the  tea  table  and  regarded 
Mrs.  Wayne  with  a  gaze  so  steady  that,  after  one 
fleeting  glance  at  him,  the  pouring  of  tea  absorbed  all 
of  her  attention,  and  she  bit  her  lip  in  nervous  impa- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  243 

tience  at  the  certainty  that  the  color  was  flaming  over 
her  face,  and  that  even  her  bent  head  could  not 
conceal  it. 

"  So  there  are  people  with  whom  you  do  shake  hands 
occasionally,"  he  remarked. 

At  the  words  the  color  faded,  she  raised  her  head 
slowly,  and  it  was  with  her  usual  guardedly  polite 
smile  she  met  his  gaze  and  offered  him  tea. 

"  I  believe  I  have  clasped  hands  with  you,  have  I 
not?" 

"Once,"  he  assented.  "It  was  the  first  time  we 
met.  You  were  never  so  gracious  again  —  to  me." 

She  had  no  quick  retort  to  his  bitter  words.  He 
knew  she  avoided  him  at  every  turn,  and  she  knew  he 
knew  it.  There  was  nothing  to  say. 

Hallet  carried  tea  to  Nell,  and  Monica,  after  all 
had  been  served,  took  her  cup  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
studio,  studying  the  portrait  from  there ;  and  then  for 
getting  tea,  picked  up  the  brushes,  making  a  slight 
change  in  the  drawing,  and  thus  was  back  at  the  work 
instead  of  having  a  tete-a-tete  with  the  man  whose 
strange,  puzzled  gaze  affected  her  more  than  it  would 
be  wise  to  let  him  guess. 

"  Oh,  Lane,  I  utterly  forgot  to  meet  you  as  we  had 
planned,"  said  Nell,  contritely;  but  he  smiled  at  her 
absently,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  work  on  the 
portrait. 

"  It  really  did  not  matter,"  he  returned  with  the 
careless  desire  to  appear  amiable;  but  Nell  noted  the 


244  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

carelessness,  if  not  the  amiability,  and  her  glance 
suggested  that  she  was  more  than  usually  piqued. 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  remarked,  with  humorous  sar 
casm.  "There  is  no  feminine  creature  in  Christendom 
worth  devoting  your  thoughts  to  except  your  Twilight 
Lady  of  the  love  letters  and  the  drawings  —  when  you 
find  her." 

"Nell!"  and  the  tone  of  Sargent  was  imperative, 
though  low. 

"Love  letters?  Interesting  subject,"  said  Hallet, 
with  a  desire  to  quell  the  rising  storm  in  Nell's  face, 
but  he  was  too  late.  The  quarrel  with  Tony  had  left 
her  irritable  and  nervous,  and  at  the  corrective  note  in 
Sargent's  utterance  of  her  name  all  the  barriers  of 
restraint  were  down. 

"  You  need  not  shout  at  me  like  that,"  she  protested, 
defiantly,  "for  it's  no  secret.  They  both,"  and  her 
wide  gesture  included  Monica  and  Hallet,  "know  all 
about  it." 

"They  know?"  and  Sargent's  eyes  were  hard  and 
dark  in  a  flash. 

"  I  told  them,"  she  announced,  lightly.  "  It  was  too 
pretty  a  romance  to  keep.  I  'm  going  to  tell  it  to  Gillie 
for  his  novel,  or  play,  or  whatever  that  child  of  his 
brain  is  to  be." 

"  I  shall  have  to  correct  your  statement  as  to  *  love 
letters/  "  said  Sargent,  coldly.  "  The  *  letters  of  a  lady ' 
would  be  a  more  accurate  description." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  245 

"  Nell,  quit  your  quarreling,  and  get  back  into  posi 
tion,  please,"  suggested  Monica.  "There  is  still  a  bit 
of  light.'1 

Nell  returned  to  the  chair  sulkily,  gave  her  cup  to 
Hallet,  and  an  injured  glance  to  Sargent. 

"Of  course,  she  did  not  write  the  word  'love'  all 
over  them,"  she  conceded;  "it  was  merely  a  mental 
affinity.  Oh,  yes,  we  Ve  all  met  them." 

"  Remember,  please,  that  I  did  not  meet  this  one." 

"Or,"  guessed  Nell,  keenly,  "you  wouldn't  be 
here?" 

"  Probably  not,"  he  conceded,  impatiently. 

"You  see,"  and  the  sweep  of  Nell's  arms  called 
heaven  and  earth  to  witness,  "  that's  the  way  he  makes 
love  to  me !  " 

"Was  there  an  actual  lady  in  the  case?"  asked 
Hallet. 

"  There  was,"  assented  Sargent,  "  and  I  am  figura 
tively  at  her  feet  for  ever  making  mention  of  those 
first  letters  concerning  the  drawings.  She  wrote  the 
most  beautiful  letters  I  have  ever  read.  She  illustrated 
that  book  of  mine  as  if  she  had  known  all  the  cited 
bits  of  that  coast.  I  shall  be  in  her  debt  so  long  as  I 
live." 

"  And  you  never  even  learned  her  name  ?  " 

"Never;  the  name  was  understood  to  be  assumed. 
There  was  some  family  reason  why  she  could  not  be 
known  as  the  illustrator  of  that  story.  After  the  publi- 


246  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

cation  and  reproduction  details  were  settled,  the  lady 
ceased  the  correspondence.  All  I  could  ever  identify 
her  by  would  be  the  writing." 

"Then  you  have  the  letters?"  asked  Hallet,  as  he 
picked  up  the  mahl-stick  Monica  had  let  fall.  She  was 
trying  to  work  despite  the  clash  of  the  two  minds  and 
Nell's  restlessness. 

"  Certainly  I  have  the  letters ;  my  only  chance  of  ever 
finding  her." 

"You  see,"  announced  Nell  in  triumph,  "he  is  still 
looking  for  her! " 

"  But  there  are  so  many  —  so  very  many  persons 
who  write  alike,"  observed  Monica,  "  it  would  be 
unfair  to  make  that  the  only  test." 

"  I  should  make  no  mistake,"  said  Sargent,  stub 
bornly.  "  If  I  had  only  three  words  I  should  make  no 
mistake.  The  writing  had  a  character  of  its  own." 

'You  really  believe  that  the  interest  on  the  part  of 
the  woman  was  entirely  platonic,  concerned  only  with 
your  work?"  asked  Hallet. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  They  were  such  letters  as  a  very 
bright  boy  might  write,  a  boy  alive  with  enthusiasm 
for  research  along  unconventional  lines,  a  mind  filled 
with  beautiful  ideals,  and  a  very  limited  knowledge  of 
human  nature  as  it  really  is !  " 

"Do  you  forget,"  persisted  Hallet,  "that  the 
unknown  started  with  an  immense  advantage  over 
you?  Your  photographs  were  used  considerably  in 
newspapers  and  magazines." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  247 

Sargent  looked  at  him  in  frowning  perplexity. 
Evidently  it  had  not  occurred  to  him. 

"  Of  course,"  decided  Nell  with  conviction.  "  The 
woman  was  in  love  with  him  personally  all  the  time; 
any  man  but  Lane  would  have  known  it !  " 

"Have  you  no  opinion,  Madame  Monica?*'  asked 
Hallet.  ''You  should  understand  the  artistic  tempera 
ment,  and  you  have  seen  the  charming  illustrations." 

"  Mrs.  Wayne  finds  no  charm  in  them,"  observed 
Sargent,  and  Hallet  regarded  her  in  surprise. 

"Is  that  possible?"  he  asked. 

"They  are  pretty,"  she  conceded,  "though  there  is 
nothing  really  big  about  them,  a  trifle  immature, 
perhaps,  as  were  the  thoughts  in  the  letters." 

"  But  the  immaturity  of  the  ideas,  the  evidence  of 
youth  and  lack  of  experience  was  one  of  the  greatest 
charms  of  the  letters,"  said  Sargent. 

"All  the  heavenly  ideals,"  remarked  Nell,  lightly. 

l<  You  also  read  the  —  the  effusions  ?  "  asked  Monica. 

"Me"  and  Nell's  expression  was  comic  in  its  pre 
tence  of  humility.  "  Do  you  suppose  my  degenerate 
eyes  would  be  allowed  to  rest  on  them?  No,"  and 
she  shook  her  head,  sadly,  "  I  can  only  judge  the  cause 
by  noting  the  effect.  He  was  unnaturally  good  for  a 
long  time  after  the  first  letters  came  —  I  always  have 
my  doubts  of  men  who  are  unnaturally  good.  Then 
there  was  a  season  when  he  radiated  hope  and  happi 
ness  and  ceased  all  reference  to  the  unknown  artist! 
When  a  final  letter  came  ending  the  correspondence, 


248  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

telling  him  she  was  married,  well,  he  fell  from  grace  — 
painted  the  town  lurid  for  a  week !  You  need  n't  scowl, 
Lane;  you  know  you  did.  I  was  the  only  one  who 
guessed  the  reason,  so  he  acknowledged  the  soft 
impeachment,  called  himself  several  sorts  of  a  fool,  and 
—  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Nell,  how  absurd  you  can  be,  even  when  you  are 
charming,"  remarked  Sargent,  who  had  controlled  his 
first  flash  of  angry  amaze  and  accepted  her  exaggera 
tions  with  an  ironic  smile;  but  the  girl  knew  that  he 
was  more  than  a  little  irritated  that  Monica  was  hear 
ing  and  smiling  in  the  cool  manner  with  which  she 
usually  favored  all  things  pertaining  to  Sargent.  They 
never  seemed  to  get  on  with  each  other. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  retorted.  u  You  are  half  in  love 
with  that  woman  still,  even  though  she  did  trick  you, 
and  have  her  fun.  But,  of  course,  the  love  is  of  the 
unearthly,  idealistic  sort,  and  warranted  not  to  affect 
our  humdrum  plans  of  a  winter  wedding." 

"Exalted  ideals  harm  no  one,"  observed  Hallet. 

"  Not  such  short-lived  ones  as  those  of  Mr.  Sar 
gent,"  added  Monica,  with  a  little  mocking  smile — ua 
week,  an  entire  week,  until  he  had  transferred  his 
devotion  to  a  new  shrine  I  Mr.  Gilman  should  be  here 
to  note  the  limits  of  modern  love." 

"  One  cynic  is  quite  enough,"  said  Sargent,  regarding 
her  moodily.  He  could  endure  Nell's  tirades,  and 
smile,  but  the  ridicule  of  Monica  Wayne  was  a  different 
thing. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  249 

"  Meaning  me?  "  she  asked. 

"Meaning  you,"  he  assented.  "You  with  your 
spirit  of  mockery  could  never  understand  that  woman 
of  the  letters,  the  woman  who  never  mocked  at  anyone, 
who  had  a  sympathy  with  human  frailty  as  deep  and  as 
wide  as  the  ocean  she  pictured.  It  was  remarkable  in  a 
young  woman.  She  did  not  criticise,  she  understood. " 

"And  you  are  doubtful  of  me?  "  she  queried.  "  But 
I  assure  you  I  could  understand.  Why,  after  Nell's 
account,  I  fancy  I  could  even  draw  her  picture.  She  is 
probably  some  tender  soul  advanced  in  years  without 
ever  having  had  a  real  romance.  The  story  of  mar 
riage  is  probably  a  harmless  fiction.  If  she  has  a  hus 
band,  why  not  discuss  with  him  those  ideals  of  hers? 
No,  she  is  ugly  and  was  afraid  you  would  discover  the 
fact.  No  pretty  woman  disguises  herself  too  much 
for  detection.  She  preferred  leaving  to  you  the  illusion 
she  had  created.  She  will  die  some  day  when  you  are 
on  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame,  and  your  letters  will  be 
found,  tied  with  pink  ribbon,  and  they  will  be  published 
together  with  her  picture  —  and  yours !  You  will  regret 
the  day  you  ever  learned  to  write.  Again,  for  a  week, 
will  earth  and  sky  be  lurid,  and  mental  affinities  — 
unpopular." 

The  merriment  of  Nell  and  Hallet  was  all  the 
applause  she  got  for  this  humorous  conception.  Sar 
gent  looked  at  her  with  somber,  questioning  eyes.  He 
had  never  before  seen  her  so  alive  with  the  spirit  of 


250  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

ridicule,  and  towards  himself  she  had  usually  exhibited 
only  a  guarded  civility. 

"  Strange  that  you  have  no  sympathy  with  emotional 
natures,"  he  observed,  "  for,  pardon  me,  your  face,  and 
even  your  voice,  would  suggest  that  you  might  have, 
but  you  have  evidently  lived  too  studious  a  life  to  com 
prehend  real  people;  you  only  have  mental  pictures  of 
what  men  and  women  ought  to  be,  and  their  loves  only 
serve  you  for  a  laugh." 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  sides  if  you  get  into  that  sort 
of  analysis,"  remarked  Hallet.  "  You  are  severe." 

"When  I  see  real  love  I  shan't  laugh,"  and  Monica 
turned  back  to  her  work. 

Sargent  made  no  comment,  only  looked  back  at  her, 
and  after  one  fleeting  glance  she  did  not  care  to  meet 
his  eyes  again.  Words  she  could  ridicule  or  refute,  but 
not  eyes. 

Hallet  was  at  a  table  looking  over  a  collection  of 
photographs  of  foreign  paintings  and  held  one  up  as 
treasure  trove. 

"Here  is  something  to  balance  all  your  cynical  argu 
ments,  Madame  Monica,"  he  declared  in  triumph,  u  a 
picture  of  Francesca  and  Paola.  How  do  you  excuse  a 
love  like  theirs?" 

"A  love  like  that  is  its  own  excuse,"  she  replied, 
promptly;  ua  love  one  is  willing  to  live  for,  suffer  for, 
and  —  die  for!"  She  caught  a  glance  from  Sargent 
which  caused  her  to  turn  to  Hallet  with  a  lighter  air 
and  a  little  shrug.  "  I  keep  that  to  help  me  have  faith 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  251 

in  real  loves.  I  like  to  forget  the  papier-mache 
imitations  about  me." 

"You  only  believe  in  the  love  of  dead  lovers." 
retorted  Nell. 

"  It  is  no  longer  in  their  power  to  be  unfaithful," 
she  observed,  demurely. 

"  Must  one  have  died  centuries  ago  to  be  given  a 
thought  from  you?"  asked  Hallet,  replacing  the  photo 
graph.  "Have  you  no  belief  in  the  living  loves  of 
today?" 

"The  living  loves  of  today,"  she  said,  mockingly,  as 
she  observed  Sargent  still  watching  her,  "built  on  the 
dead  loves  of  yesterday.  Oh,  yes,  I  believe,  help  thou 
my  unbelief! " 

"  Monica,  you  are  positively  sacrilegious,"  cried 
Nell. 

"No,"  she  said,  decidedly,  to  this  accusation. 
"Love  is  the  only  religion  worth  living  or  dying  for. 
It  is  you  worldlings  who  are  sacrilegious  when  you  dis 
card  the  real  and  accept  the  imitations  —  oh,  are  you 
going?"  she  asked,  as  Hallet  offered  his  hand;  "have 
I  frightened  you  away?" 

He  smiled,  shaking  his  head,  but  said  nothing.  His 
good,  safe  friendship  seemed  a  sort  of  anchor  in  their 
group  of  irresponsibles,  and  she  added,  "  Come  again, 
please?" 

"As  I  am  one  of  the  abused  imitations  I  will  go  with 
you,  Hallet,"  said  Sargent.  "Am  I  forgiven  my  per- 


252  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

sonalities,  Mrs.  Wayne?"  he  queried,  with  a  smile. 
She  nodded  carelessly. 

44  Certainly,  this  seems  a  sort  of  Liberty  Hall,  where 
all  the  family  unload  their  troubles  and  fight  out  their 
battles.  I  strive  to  be  an  impartial  judge  of  the  ring, 
but  occasionally  I  do  take  sides." 

44  So  I  see.  Nell,  I  have  an  engagement  with  your 
aunt  at  a  jeweler's,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch,  4t  and 
will  call  for  you  when  the  working  light  is  quite  gone." 

The  two  went  out  together  and  Monica  worked  in 
silence  under  the  puzzled  regard  of  Nell,  who  wondered 
vaguely  what  it  was  that  made  Monica  so  aggressively 
alert  and  sarcastic.  It  really  was  a  fact  that  they  had 
all  piled  in  on  her  with  their  own  little  problems,  and 
perhaps  she  was  tired  of  it,  still — " 

4'That  remark  of  yours  about  imitations  fairly  cut 
Lane,"  she  said  at  last. 

44  Yes,  he  probably  does  not  like  the  truth  and  is 
growing  too  famous  to  hear  it  often,"  observed  Mon 
ica,  stepping  back  to  look  at  the  picture  from  a  different 
angle.  44  You  two  became  engaged  through  pique.  He 
is  dreaming  of  some  unknown  woman,  and  you  are 
thinking  of  Tony  Allen  —  but  Tony  is  going  away." 

44Away  from  little  old  New  York?"  said  Nell, 
skeptically.  44  Not  really,  you  know!" 

44  Yes,  really,"  returned  Monica,  decidedly;  44  prom 
ised  me." 

44 1  don't  see  why  you  interest  yourself,"  declared 
Nell.  44  Why  didn't  you  send  Lane  away  ?  " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  253 

"  Because  he  is  none  too  good  for  you,  and  Tony  is, 
When  you  foolishly  discarded  him  he  did  not  fly  to 
another  woman  in  order  to  forget." 

"  How  you  do  hate  Lane,"  said  Lane's  fiancee,  u  and 
he  thinks  you  perfection." 

"Position,  please!"  suggested  Monica,  "and  don't 
tilt  your  head  at  that  angle.  To  discuss  your  love 
affairs  always  gives  you  a  scowling  expression." 

"Well,  with  so  much  interference,  is  it  any  won 
der?"  demanded  Nell,  and  then  the  head  was  again  at 
the  wrong  angle,  and  she  asked,  "  Is  that  actually  true 
about  Tony?" 

"  It  certainly  is.  You  won't  see  him  until  after  the 
wedding." 

"Oh,  won't  I?"  demanded  Nell,  out  of  the  chair 
and  jabbing  hat  pins  viciously  in  the  mass  of  plumage 
she  called  a  hat.  "  The  idea  of  him  going  without  even 
a  proper  good-by !  " 

"  Mr  Sargent  is  to  call  for  you,"  reminded  Monica 
as  Nell  started  for  the  hall. 

"Send  him  away;  you'll  like  that." 

"  But  your  picture — " 

"My  expression  is  spoiled  for  today,"  said  Nell, 
mockingly;  "too  many  sweethearts!" 

As  she  disappeared  in  the  outer  hall  Monica  Wayne 
drew  a  great  breath  of  relief,  and  put  aside  palette  and 
brushes,  and  walked  the  length  of  the  studio  and  back 
with  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  back  and  forth,  back 
and  forth,  restless  as  some  caged  thing. 


254  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"Another  day  like  this  and  I  should  go  frantic,"  she 
muttered,  "  simply  frantic !  " 

The  old  colored  woman  came  in,  picked  up  the 
brushes,  straightened  a  rug,  placed  a  chair  in  its  own 
nook,  and  generally  set  things  at  rights  after  the  very 
strenuous  day.  She  glanced  occasionally  towards  her 
mistress  with  a  world  of  love  in  her  mild,  velvety  eyes. 

"  Headache,  Miss  Mona  ?  "  she  ventured  at  last,  and 
at  that  Monica  halted  in  her  restless  walk  and  laughed 
shortly. 

"  Would  I  be  tramping  like  this  if  I  had  a  head 
ache?"  she  asked.  "No,  Maum  Rosa,  I  am  only 
tired  of  people,  and  people,  and  people." 

"  Umph!  Why  bless  youah  haht,  Miss  Mona,  I 
been  so  plum  glad  of  all  these  folks  a-comin'  that  I 
never  reckoned  they'd  tire  you  out  this  a-way!  Can't 
I  —  can't  I  do  somethin'  ?"  she  asked,  as  Monica  sat 
down  on  the  dais  of  the  model  chair  and  rested  her 
head  on  the  throne. 

"No,  Maum  Rosa,  not  a  thing  —  unless,"  she 
added,  "you  know  enough  voudou  to  transport  us  both 
into  one  of  the  wild  corners  of  old  Mexico  where  no 
white  folks  can  find  the  way." 

"Voudou,  me!"  gasped  the  scandalized  Rosa, 
"  Miss  Mona,  I  follow  you  cheerful  most  any  place 
'cepten'  to  that  Mexico  place  where  red  niggahs  live. 
I  might  follow  you  even  thah,"  she  added,  cautiously, 
"but  I  ain't  a-goen  cheerful." 

Monica  smiled  absently,  her  thoughts  already  far 


Torget?  Forget?"  she  whispered  incredulously 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  255 

afield,  but  as  the  faithful  creature  was  going  softly 
away  she  aroused  with  a  quick  sigh  and  stopped  her. 

"How  old  are  you,  Maum  Rosa?"  she  asked. 

"  Me?  I  'm  close  on  sixty-five,  I  reckon,  an'  good," 
she  added,  hopefully,  "  for  twenty  years  yet!" 

"And  I  am  —  twenty-two,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
"I  also  may  live  sixty  years  —  like  this.  Oh,"  and 
she  got  suddenly  to  her  feet,  uit's  a  long,  long  time 
to  look  forward  to  —  alone  !  " 

Rosa  did  not  hear  the  last  word.  It  was  a  mere 
breath  of  a  word. 

"But  taint  so  far  to  look  back,"  she  said,  cheer 
fully  "The  yeahs  —  why,  Miss  Mona,  they's  jest 
like  miles  in  a  road.  Some  of  them  have  milestones 
an'  some  haven't  any.  The  path  an'  the  roads,  an* 
even  ole  milestones,  get  growed  over  with  grass  an' 
tangle  brush  in  sixty  years,  an'  we  forget  all  about 
them,  Miss  Mona,  we  forget  all  about  them." 

"No!"  burst  out  Monica,  with  a  vehemence  star 
tling  to  the  old  nurse,  "I  —  I  shan't  forget,  ever!  I 
don't  want  to  forget,  I  will  not  forget!  Oh,  go  Rosa, 
and  leave  me  alone.  Those  people  made  me  nervous, 
or  else  I  was  tired  when  they  came  —  and  the  work — " 

Rosa  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly. 

And  Monica  Wayne  sat  alone  a  long  time,  her  chin 
resting  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  staring  straight  ahead 
as  if  for  sight  of  the  long  line  of  the  future  years. 

"Forget?  Forget?"  she  whispered,  incredu 
lously. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CHE  was  still  there  when  the  last  reflection  of  a 
red  sunset  flooded  the  room.     It  outlined  the  red 
of  her  robe  in  dusky  flame,  and  cast  curious  reflected 
warmth  on  the  pale  profile. 

The  rest  of  the  room  was  in  soft  gray  shadow,  and 
McLane  Sargent  halted  on  the  threshold,  perfectly 
still,  almost  holding  his  breath  at  the  harmony  of  the 
picture  and  the  uncanny  charm  it  held  for  him. 

Nell  had  left  the  outer  door  ajar  and  he  had  entered 
without  ringing,  fully  expecting  her  criticism  for  his 
tardiness. 

And  instead  he  had  walked  in  on  the  silence  of  the 
one  woman  whose  charm  for  him  was  so  baffling. 
She  looked  appealingly  girlish.  The  curve  of  the  lips 
was  sad  and  there  was  no  mockery  in  the  eyes  —  they 
suggested  unshed  tears.  It  was  girlhood  on  which  he 
looked,  girlhood,  and  not  happy,  and  he  would  have 
given  much  to  retreat  unseen. 

But  he  dared  not  even  attempt  it,  and  suddenly  he 
stepped  off  the  rug  to  the  bare  floor. 

"  I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Wayne,"  he 
began,  but  she  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  gasp  of  fear. 

"I  —  I  seem  fated  to  do  the  wrong  thing,"  he  said. 
"The  door  was  open  and  I  thought — " 

256 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  257 

"She  has  gone,"  she  interrupted,  hurriedly;  "yes, 
Nell  has  gone,  she  could  not  wait,  she  said  —  " 

"Never  mind  what  she  said,"  he  suggested,  sooth 
ingly,  "  I  have  startled  you  again  most  abominably,  and 
I  did  want  much  to  be  in  your  good  graces  enough  to 
be  allowed  an  interview." 

"With  me?"  she  asked,  recovering  her  serenity 
somewhat,  though  her  breath  was  still  uneven,  and  her 
heart  fluttering  somewhere  nearer  her  throat  than 
usual.  She  designated  a  chair  by  a  gesture,  and  added, 
"As  a  cousin-to-be  you  need  not  be  so  ceremonious." 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  rather  grimly,  "it  was  on  the 
strength  of  that  same  misty  cousinhood  Hallet  begged 
me  to  speak  to  you." 

"Did  I  shock  him?"  she  smiled,  suddenly  relieved 
in  a  way.  If  it  was  a  message  from  Hallet  it  was  of 
course  not  a  thing  to  be  nervous  over.  "  Nell  said  I 
shocked  you." 

"  I  am  becoming  hardened  to  it,"  he  observed,  but 
did  not  meet  her  eyes,  and  there  was  a  perceptible 
silence  before  he  finally  said,  very  quietly:  ./;•  . 

"Will  it  be  something  more  to  mock  at  if  I  tell 
you  he  is  much  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  very  directly,  but  his  eyes  avoided 
her;  he  was  regarding  with  apparent  interest  the  carv 
ings  on  a  facade  across  the  street.  She  felt  again  mis 
tress  of  the  situation  and  began  to  laugh  softly. 

"  Have  you,  in  addition  to  your  other  honors,  be 
come  ambassador  to  the  Court  of  Love?" 


258  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

He  looked  pale  in  the  gray  light,  and  his  face  hard 
ened  at  the  sarcasm  of  her  words  and  the  disdain  in 
her  laugh,  but  his  voice  was  even  and  restrained  as  he 
said: 

"  He  is  not  the  man  to  risk  offending  you  in  any 
way,  and  that  letter  from  Italy  has  made  him 
wretched;  the  more  so  that  he  has  the  feeling  that 
Mr.  Wayne  meant  to  follow  the  letter.  He  knows 
that  the  family  will  try  to  influence  you  to  consider 
the  settlement  offered  you,  and  he  has  no  one  to  trust 
but  me." 

Monica  had  banished  her  smile.  She  could  not  even 
look  at  him  as  his  low  tones  thrilled  her  by  their  very 
restraint.  It  gave  her  a  curious  shock  to  hear  him 
mention  Wayne.  It  was  as  a  sort  of  barrier  passed. 

"And  you  advise — ?" 

Her  voice  was  low  as  his  own,  and  the  two  guarded 
voices  in  the  gray  light  might  have  belonged  to  con 
spirators  of  a  tragic  possibility. 

"  I  cannot  advise,"  he  said,  after  a  silence  through 
which  expression  forced  itself.  "I  have  reached  the 
limit  of  my  promise.  He  strongly  advises  divorce  and 
wants  to  get  it  for  you;  but  if  it  is  to  be  a  reconcilia 
tion  he  needs  to  know  it.  Naturally  he  can't  make 
proposals  to  the  wife  of  Glyndon  Wayne." 

"Don't!"  she  cried,  imperatively,  all  her  restraint 
gone.  "I  am  not  —  I  never  will  be  the  wife  of  that 
man!  No  law  of  any  land  can  make  me  more  free 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  259 

than  my  own  will.  They  make  me  wild  —  all  these 
people  with  their  laws  of  state,  of  society,  of  the  creeds ! 
There  is  more  virtue  in  breaking  half  of  them  than  in 
keeping  them.  Right  here,  today  I  heard  of  certain 
laws  so  infernal  in  their  intent  that  —  oh  they  disgust 
me  with  the  hypocrisies  under  their  legal  form.  I  shall 
be  my  own  law  and  live  by  it.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  left 
alone." 

"  I  regret  having  annoyed  you,"  he  said,  in  the  same 
colorless,  even  tones.  "  I  could  not  refuse  to  come, 
I—" 

A  ring  at  the  door  came  to  them,  and  so  tense  had 
been  the  moments  that  they  both  arose,  alert  and  silent, 
looking  at  each  other. 

Then  they  heard  the  voice  of  Lulu,  and  a  moment 
later  she  entered,  as  usual  tempestuously. 

uOh,  has  Nell  gone?"  she  asked,  as  she  glanced 
about,  and  then  seeing  Sargent  she  added,  "  Did  you 
get  the  card?" 

"  What  card?"  he  asked,  "have  you  sent  me  a  pic 
ture  postal?" 

"No,  but  I  will,"  she  laughed.  "I  mean  the  card 
I  left  with  your  man,  Mrs.  Dacy's  card  postponing 
her  engagement  with  you  until  eleven-thirty  tomorrow." 

"No,  Lulu,  I  kept  the  engagement,  but  the  lady 
failed.  I  have  not  been  to  my  hotel  or  seen  the  card, 
but  it  doesn't  matter.  I'll  remember  —  eleven-thirty 


tomorrow." 


260  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

He  turned  to  the  window  and  did  not  even  glance 
at  Monica.  It  was  not  so  easy  to  pick  up  the  cloak  of 
carelessness  at  the  advent  of  a  third  person. 

"  You  forgot  your  gloves,  Lulu,"  said  Monica,  and 
lifting  them  from  the  table  walked  over  with  them  to 
the  mantel  where  the  girl  followed,  wonderingly. 

"  Lulu,  get  back  that  card,"  she  said,  lowly,  her  eyes 
on  Sargent  at  the  window.  "  Bring  it  here  to  me  at 
once,  Lulu,  at  once! " 

"  Of  course,"  agreed  the  puzzled  girl,  wondering  at 
the  tensity  and  secrecy  in  her  manner.  "  Is  it  impor 
tant?" 

"  Important  enough  to  put  your  portrait  next  on  the 
easel." 

"Oh,  I'll  simply  fly!    Good-bye,  Mr.  Sargent." 

Monica  leaned  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and  the  world 
seemed  to  go  around  her.  Her  back  was  to  Sargent, 
and  she  strove  to  regain  command  of  herself  before 
he  should  see  her  face.  Once  she  reached  mechan 
ically  to  press  the  electric  button  for  light,  but  her  hand 
fell  nerveless,  afraid. 

Then,  out  of  the  whirling  gray  of  her  world,  she 
heard  his  voice. 

u  It  was  for  that  girl's  sake  you  refused  the  divorce," 
he  was  saying,  "  to  save  her  from  the  scheme  of  a  vain, 
ambitious  woman,  and  a  man  whose  money  she  hoped 
to  secure.  Can  I  tell  Hallet  that  when  she  is  her 
own  guardian,  or  married,  that  you  will  ask  for 
divorce?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  261 

Then  she  heard  him  say,  "  Mrs.  Wayne,  you  are 
ill!"  and  realized  that  she  had  sunk  down  into  the 
chair  and  that  only  his  voice  and  the  dread  of  failing 
utterly,  held  her  to  the  thread  of  a  slight  consciousness. 

"  I  will  call  your  woman,"  he  said,  and  crossed  to 
the  door;  but  she  stopped  him. 

"No  —  I  am  not  ill  —  not  at  all,"  and  she  strug 
gled  to  her  feet,  only  to  sink  back  into  the  chair,  weak 
and  white,  but  smiling  slightly,  with  a  last  attempt  to 
assume  a  strength  she  did  not  possess. 

"  Not  ill,  but  sometimes  I  am  overwhelmed  by  the 
many  joys  of  life;  the  pretty  plans  my  friends  arrange 
for  me  —  there  are  so  many  of  them,  and  each  opposes 
the  other  —  so  what  can  I  do  but  refuse  them  all,  all! 
Poor  empty-handed  ambassador  from  Cupid's  court! 
You  have  to  go  back  with  nothing;  but — "  and  sud 
denly  she  broke  down  appealingly,  "  Don't  let  them 
send  any  one  else  to  me  —  don't,  ever  again!" 

And  then  the  skies  seemed  to  fall  and  all  the  world 
changed,  and  out  of  the  chaos  came  only  his  voice. 

There  were  words,  and  words,  heard  as  in  a  dream, 
and  gradually  — 

" — I  came  —  to  hide  from  him  that  I  was  afraid  to 
come !  It  has  been  like  a  foretaste  of  hell  to  think  of 
him  sharing  your  life.  You  know  it  all  now  —  at  least 
the  pretense  is  over.  You  won't  speak,  so  of  course 
you  will  find  some  good  reason  to  close  your  door 
against  me.  I  have  presumed  to  interfere  in  your  per- 


262  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

sonal  affairs.    I  accept  any  sentence  from  you,  but — do 
you  mean  to  live  all  your  life  alone  —  like  this?" 

" Alone  —  like  this!" 

She  did  not  mean  to  speak,  silence  seemed  the  only 
weapon  she  had  left,  but  she  heard  herself  repeat  his 
words,  and  knew  she  must  not  do  even  that  again. 

"Monica!" 

She  lifted  her  hand  in  protest,  but  his  words  and  his 
nearness  overwhelmed  her  like  a  flood. 

"  Let  me  at  least  say  the  name  aloud  once !  I  Ve 
whispered  it  to  myself  each  day  and  each  night  since 
I  met  you  first.  You  never  gave  me  a  thought  more 
than  to  an  ordinary  acquaintance,  but  it  was  a  real 
woman  and  no  longer  an  imaginary  one,  who  stood 
between  Nell  and  me." 

"Go,  please  go!"  she  whispered,  so  faintly  that 
only  Love's  ears  could  hear.  Her  back  was  to  him  as 
she  huddled  down  in  the  chair,  her  hands  clasped  over 
her  breast,  her  face  averted,  the  very  picture  of  cower 
ing  fear. 

"  Monica,  I  shall  do  one  of  two  things  —  marry  Nell 
at  once  if  we  are  ever  to  marry,  or  else  leave  America 
within  a  week.  Do  you  know  why?  Shall  I  tell  you 
why?" 

"Oh  —  go,  go!"  she  muttered,  without  lifting  her 
head. 

" — Because  I  could  not  trust  myself  again  in  this 
casual  friendly  role.  I  should  forget,  as  I  am  forget- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  263 

ting  now,  all  the  conventional  walls  meant  to  keep  you 
from  me — " 

"Go! "  and  the  word  had  become  a  plea  instead  of 
a  command. 

" — I  should  have  a  mad  desire  to  beat  them  down, 
or  throw  them  aside.  I  could  remember  only  a  girl 
whose  life  is  desolate,  and  that  I  am  a  man  who  — 
adores  her." 

Deeper  and  deeper  she  crouched  in  the  chair,  her 
face  covered,  and  the  trembling,  convulsive  breaths  told 
him  she  was  weeping. 

To  the  man  standing  over  her  she  was  no  longer 
the  mocking,  alluring,  baffling  woman,  she  was  a  child 
whom  his  wild  words  had  hurt,  and  his  very  heart  with 
all  its  weight  of  longing  crept  into  his  voice  and  to  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  as  he  bent  over  and  touched  her 
shoulder. 

"Monica!" 

At  his  touch  she  shrank  from  under  his  hand,  fright 
ened  at  him  or  at  something  within  her  own  nature  — 
sleeping  —  sleeping — until  his  words,  his  touch,  had 
wakened  her!  She  was  filled  with  terror,  and  could 
find  no  word  to  say,  yet  he  must  go  —  go  —  go  ! 

Hysterically  she  laughed  in  sheer  fear,  and  at  the 
laugh  he  stood  erect  as  if  she  had  struck  him.  That 
movement  gave  her  courage,  and  she  pointed  to  the 
door. 

He  took  one  step  towards  her,  his  hand  flung  out  in 


264  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

protest,  but  her  laughter  rang  clear,  and  the  mockery 
slashed  at  him  like  a  knife. 

"Worthy  ambassador  for  Cupid's  court!" 

For  an  instant  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  his  face 
ashen  white,  his  hands  clenched  in  the  effort  at  self- 
restraint,  then  her  hand  groped  back  of  her  to  the  wall 
and  touched  the  electric  button,  and  the  blaze  of  light 
flashed  in  his  eyes,  eyes  hard  with  pain  as  he  dashed 
aside  the  portier  and  went  out  with  the  sound  of  her 
mocking  laughter  in  his  ears. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  tense  and  staring  —  her  eyes 
on  the  place  where  he  had  been. 

Then  a  door  opened  and  closed. 

Her  world  of  dreams  was  empty,  and  she  knew  she 
had  driven  out  the  other  half  of  her  life. 

With  a  little  cry  she  ran  to  the  entrance  and  gath 
ered  to  her  lips  the  curtain  where  his  hand  had  been, 
and  sank  down  a  crumpled  heap,  a  lonely  staring 
creature  in  the  glare  of  the  light. 

After  a  long  time  she  looked  about  the  room  as  if  it 
was  a  new  world  into  which  she  had  emerged,  and  her 
lips  seemed  stiff  as  with  cold,  when  she  muttered: 

" Alone!  sixty  years,  and  the  grass  grows  —  and 
covers  the  landmarks,  and  we  —  in  time  —  forget!  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

'HpHAT  evening,  Lulu,  in  a  telephone  booth,  was 
•*•    calling   impatiently   for   Mrs.   Wayne's  number, 
after  her  attempts  at  the  door  of  the  apartment  had 
proven  useless.    No  one  had  answered  the  door. 

At  last  the  receiver  was  taken  down  and  Central  said, 
"  Go  ahead/' 

"Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Wayne?  Yes,  it's  Lulu.  I've 
been  trying  to  get  you  hours  and  hours!  What?  — 
headache  ?  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry !  No,  I  could  not  find  the 
man  I  gave  the  card  to,  he  had  gone  on  an  errand,  but 
I  left  word,  and  will  see  him  the  very  first  thing  in 
the  morning,  it's  only  around  the  corner  from  our 
hotel.  I  '11  be  there  early.  No,  don't  hang  up,  I  Ve 
such  news !  Mr.  Sargent  won't  be  interested  in  cards 
or  engagements  tomorrow,  he  will  have  something 
more  important  to  think  of.  What?  —  can't  hear? 
Yes,  I  said  Mr.  Sargent.  Nell  Mitford  has  walked 
off  and  got  married  and  cheated  us  out  of  wedding 
cake.  Isn't  that  the  craziest  thing?  No,  I  don't  know 
details,  she  telephoned  from  the  pier.  Mama  is  with 
Mrs.  Dacy,  who  is  having  hysterics  over  it — so  scan 
dalized.  That  settles  poor  Tony  Allen!  I  wouldn't 
do  such  a  crazy  thing  with  all  the  plans  made  for  a 
perfectly  beautiful  wedding;  but  I  suppose  if  you  are 

265 


266  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

dead  in  love  with  a  man  —  what?  Oh,  well,  yes,  do 
lie  down  again.  I  do  hope  you  will  feel  better  in  the 
morning.  Good-night,  dear.  Let  me  know  if  I  can 
come  around  and  do  anything.  Good-night!  " 

Late  that  evening  George  Hallet  was  surprised  to 
be  told  Mrs.  Wayne  wanted  to  speak  to  him  on  the 
telephone,  and  he  was  more  surprised  when  her  clear 
tones  came  to  him  telling  him  to  make  a  legal  applica 
tion  for  her  divorce  at  once. 

"  Don't  ask  me  questions  about  it.  I  will  mail  this 
same  signed  request  to  you  tonight.  I  am  worn  out 
with  the  subject  and  the  contention.  No,  don't  talk  to 
me  about  it.  You  know  all  there  is  to  do.  I  am  going 
away  to  get  freedom  from  the  family  discussion. 
When  it  is  safely  under  way  I  will  come  back  to  work. 
There  will  be  no  use  to  ask  Rosa,  she  won't  know 
where  I  am.  No,  don't  ask  me  questions.  Lulu  is  out 
of  the  mind  of  Glyndon  Wayne,  and  —  I  simply  can't 
endure  the  situation.  I  would  leave  America  before  I 
would  consider  a  reconciliation,  and  their  arguments 
in  favor  of  it  will  be  endless  unless  there  is  a  divorce. 
Don't  talk,  just  arrange  the  application  immediately, 
and  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  draw  back.  I  have 
been  worn  out  by  the  subject  and  am  going  away 
tonight.  I  care  nothing  for  the  legal  details,  only  end 
this  controversy.  Good-night." 

"Thank  God!"  said  Hallet,  as  he  hung  up  the  re 
ceiver,  and  sat  long  into  the  night,  smoking,  and  think 
ing  of  the  time  when  he  should  dare  tell  her  as  much 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  267 

as  he  had  acknowledged  to  Sargent — Sargent,  the 
good  fellow  who  had  no  doubt  helped  to  bring  this 
decision  about! 

And  he  did  not  tell  her  of  a  wireless  then  on  his 
desk  brought  in  by  Dacy  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  — 

S.  S.  CARMANIA. 
9.50  Oct.  30th,  1912. 

Am  following  letter.  Give  you  carte  blanche  for  settle 
ments,  only  arrange  quickly.  WAYNE. 

" Thank  God!"  murmured  George  Hallet  again, 
and  fell  to  estimating  how  best  to  take  advantage  of 
each  hour  allowed  before  the  coming  of  the  man  who 
hoped  to  buy  back  a  girl  he  had  only,  remembered  for 
six  years  as  an  irritating  encumbrance. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

'HpHE  sumac  was  red  under  the  fleeting  sky  of  Indian 
-*•  summer,  and  the  rugged  shore  was  forsaken  of  the 
summer  colony.  No  one  remained  to  comment  on  the 
fact  that  smoke  issued  from  the  great  stone  chimney  of 
the  cottage  among  the  twisted  trees  on  the  north  shore. 
Some  fishermen  noted  a  light  there  in  the  cove  of  the 
sunken  reefs,  and  a  small  boat,  a  "  half-rater,"  stood 
out  to  the  open  sea  at  times  and  crossed  their  water 
trails  and  sailed  back  at  dusk  into  the  little  harbor; 
but  any  sailor  who  could  make  the  harbor  of  the  sunken 
reefs  without  help  did  not  need  watching,  and  the 
little  group  of  fishermen  in  the  cottages  on  the  other 
side  of  the  rugged  rock  thrust  out  to  sea,  had  little  of 
curiosity  concerning  the  remnants  of  the  summer 
groups,  or  the  stragglers  who  lingered  after  the  frosts. 
Thus  Monica  Wayne,  fleeing  as  from  crime,  hid  her 
self  in  the  one  place  she  trusted  they  would  not  expect 
her  to  go  at  that  season.  They  would  probably  con 
clude  she  had  gone  south,  in  fact  they  would  conclude 
several  things  not  true.  The  principal  one  would  be 
that  she  had  fled  because  of  Glyndon  Wayne  and  the 
family  interests,  whereas  she  would  not  have  turned  out 
of  her  way  to  pass  him  on  the  street,  so  indifferent  had 
she  grown  to  all  thoughts  of  his  personality. 

268 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  269 

But  she  was  terror-stricken  and  tingling  with  dread 
lest  some  unguarded  moment  would  come  to  her,  some 
hour  of  weakness  in  which  others  might  see  the  truth 
she  had  learned  of  herself  and  of  McLane  Sargent  — 
that  even  he  — 

But  at  that  thought  the  terror  of  that  scene  in  the 
studio  came  over  her  again.  She  had  to  get  away  to 
think,  to  make  plans,  to  burn  all  the  bridges  and  sever 
herself  from  these  kindly  folk  who  had  been  so  much 
a  part  of  her  life  in  the  East. 

The  thought  of  the  divorce  was  like  the  straw  to  the 
drowning  man.  It  was  the  one  logical  thing  she  could 
use  to  excuse  her  sudden  departure  from  their  midst. 
It  would  explain  everything  to  all  of  them.  There 
would  be  dismay  and  regret  and  gossip,  but  there  would 
be  no  questions ;  there  would,  above  all,  be  no  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  any  of  them  —  even  he  could  not  doubt! 

She  scarcely  dared  think  of  him  by  name,  though 
she  had  never  forgotten  him  since  the  day  when  she 
rode  her  dripping  horse  into  the  one  little  street  of  San 
Juan,  raging  against  the  jealous  native  element,  and  in 
the  midst  of  her  daring  insolence  she  had  seen  his  eyes 
travel  from  the  horse  to  her  and  made  her  suddenly 
ashamed  of  her  fury,  her  bare  feet,  and  the  Indian 
banda  about  her  braided  hair. 

Yet  that  attire,  and  her  angry  Spanish,  had  seemed 
as  a  mask  for  her  these  many  weeks.  Had  she  spoken 
English  he  must  surely  have  solved  long  ere  this  the 
mystery  of  her  voice.  How  often  had  she  seen  him 


270  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

listen  when  she  spoke  and  watch  her  with  a  puzzled 
eagerness  as  if  at  any  moment  the  veil  might  lift  and  a 
glimpse  be  gained  of  that  other  life  somewhere,  some 
time  when  her  voice  had  sounded  in  his  ears ! 

And  they  had  come  so  near,  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other,  only  one  short  day  before  she  had  given  up  her 
legal  freedom ! 

The  Fates  had  brought  their  trails  thus  very  close 
as  if  in  irony  of  human  foresight,  and  now  —  after  the 
long  circle  of  many  days,  and  dreary  years,  he  had  said 
the  words  never  to  be  unsaid  — he  had  called  to  her  as 
to  a  mate,  had  laid  his  very  heart  bare,  and  had  been 

sent  away  in  the  silence  with  which  she  had  wrapped 
i_      i*  c  *  * 

her  life. 

All  these  moments  were  lived  over  by  her  alone  on 
the  cliffs  above  the  sunken  reefs,  and  out  of  the  chaos 
into  which  she  had  plunged  she  was  making  plans,  and 
plans ! 

Among  her  father's  papers  there  was  a  description 
of  a  wonderful  old  forgotten  villa  in  the  heart  of  Mex 
ican  forests  where  mines  had  been  lost  in  the  days  of 
revolution  and  inquisition,  and  the  forest  had  over 
grown  the  ancient  principality;  but  on  her  wall  was  a 
picture  of  a  marble-pillared  dwelling— steps  of  marble 
led  down  to  a  water  garden  where  statues  and  carven 
columns  marked  the  restful  ways,  and  a  great  moun 
tain  of  white  and  violet  loomed  in  the  far  distance  as 
seen  through  the  forest  trees. 

It  was  an  unbelievable  paradise  in  the  midst  of  a 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  271 

wild  forgotten  corner  of  the  land,  yet  the  thought  of 
it  had  always  held  a  fascination  for  her,  though  she 
had  never  seen  it. 

She  studied  the  picture,  and  she  searched  through  the 
old  Mexican  records  for  every  note  concerning  it.  Her 
father  had  died  of  jungle  fever  not  far  from  there.  It 
had  been  his  headquarters,  though  he  ranged  south  to 
Yucatan  and  west  along  the  coast  But  to  this  Eden 
in  the  wilderness  he  and  an  old  scientific  friend  had 
returned  again  and  again  for  the  mere  joy  of  exist 
ence  there  and  the  ever  alluring  mystery  of  the  primi 
tive  people  of  the  region. 

It  was  unknown  to  Americans.  None  of  her  own 
group  would  ever  seek  her  there  —  and  with  Maum 
Rosa — - 

So  she  paced  the  road  above  the  cliffs  and  thought 
and  made  plans  by  which  her  life  would  not  again 
cross  trails  with  the  one  man  whose  voice  was  as  a 
caress,  whose  real  self  was  so  close  that  he  kept  pace 
beside  her  day  time  and  night  time.  She,  independent 
and  self-reliant  all  her  days,  was  no  longer  alone,  and 
felt  that  her  life  was  enveloped  by  the  force  of  his 
wild  need  of  her. 

That  Aztec  love  song  came  back  haunting  her  in 
Nell's  voice  —  Nell's! 

Though  wide  you  range  the  forest  through, 
I  wake  with  thee,  deep  in  thy  heart  I  rest. 

When  trembles  in  my  ear  the  turquoise  blue 
I  know  it  is  thy  heart  within  my  breast ! 


272  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

The  tones  of  Nell  came  to  her  in  every  syllable,  Nell 
—  who  had  been  the  one  wholesome,  natural,  loving 
chum  among  them  all.  And  it  was  Nell  whom  she 
could  never  face  again  with  eyes  unashamed,  Nell  — 
whose  voice  sounded  through  all  the  songs  she  best 
loved,  Nell  —  to  whose  life  he  must  belong  through 
all  the  years,  while  she  — 

Over  and  over  she  thrust  from  her  these  thoughts, 
only  to  have  them  return  as  regularly  as  the  billows 
followed  each  other  in  from  the  ocean.  The  restless 
ness  of  the  surging  sea  echoed  her  own  heart-beats  as 
they  swept  against  the  bulwarks  of  stone  in  the  land 
locked  harbors.  The  wild  crash  of  the  waters  broke 
like  thunder  on  the  great  brown  boulders,  curled  in 
white  foam  in  every  crevice,  and  swept  out  to  the' 
depths  again,  leaving  never  a  trace  on  the  great  curved 
wall  of  the  cliff.  The  wall  built  by  the  fates  around  her 
own  life  was  like  that.  Though  she  dashed  herself  for 
ever  against  them  nothing  would  change  the  barrier — 
the  barrier  she  could  never  pass !  Like  the  shattered 
waves  there  was  no  peace,  no  rest,  unless  it  were  to  be 
found  in  some  deepest  depths  far  below  the  moving 
shimmering  surface. 

And  again  her  thoughts  drifted  to  that  wonderful 
hidden  place  of  the  old  Mexican  garden.  No  corner 
of  Europe  would  so  surely  bar  out  the  world  for  her, 
and  perhaps,  after  awhile,  when  the  ache  in  the  heart 
was  less  keen,  if  ever  such  time  should  come  — 

Thus  she  sailed  out  to  sea,  glad  of  the  harsh,  keen 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  273 

winds  to  fight,  some  physical  thing  to  conquer,  that  for 
even  a  short  space  she  might  escape  her  own  thoughts 
and  her  own  vague  wild  plans  of  flight. 

Thus  when  the  dusk  came  and  the  walls  of  the  house 
oppressed  her,  she  would  walk  over  the  road  where 
they  had  walked  together  in  strange  silence  that  first 
evening.  Each  turn,  each  curve  of  the  shore,  each 
great  boulder  by  the  wayside,  was  a  mute  witness  that 
here  their  feet  had  halted,  and  their  very  souls  met 
without  speech. 

And  wandering  thus  alone  and  aimless  in  the  dusk, 
she  came  above  the  little  cove  with  the  cabin  built  of 
wreckage  and  the  old  hull  of  a  boat,  where  no  one  had 
lived  since  old  man  Craig  had  gone  away  and  died 
somewhere  on  the  south  shore.  It  was  a  desolate- 
looking  place,  and  scurrying  clouds  sent  queer  shadows 
over  it  at  times,  and  again  the  starlight  and  the  white 
surf  leaping  beyond  it  gave  it  a  clear  silhouette  peculiar 
and  weird. 

Suddenly  across  the  desolate  little  strip  of  shore  she 
discerned  a  thing  more  definite  than  shadow  moving  in 
the  half  light — a  slender,  halting  figure,  and  at  times 
the  flutter  of  a  scarf. 

Once  the  figure  seemed  literally  to  sink  into  the 
ground,  and  Monica,  startled  and  alert,  found  herself 
watching  the  spot  with  a  sort  of  fascinated  horror. 
Fishermen's  wives  were  not  prone  to  cross  the  rocks 
in  the  dusk  to  the  deserted  cabin  of  the  old  dead  sailor. 
She  herself  had  walked  down  there  in  the  morning  and 


274  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

felt  oppressed  by  the  empty  husk  of  that  which  had 
been  once  a  home.  No  one  had  touched  the  rude  fur 
nishings  beyond  the  removal  of  wearing  apparel  and 
bedding.  She  had  learned  that  Hettie  had  disposed  of 
the  few  saleable  things  and  gone  somewhere  into 
Gloucester  to  live. 

Monica  had  found  herself  wondering  if  it  was  a 
tryst,  and  glanced  along  the  shore  for  a  possible  other 
visitor  to  that  especially  deserted  cove ;  but  look  where 
she  might  she  could  see  nothing  but  black  rock,  and 
white  surf  as  it  beat  like  a  hungry  monster  against 
the  shore. 

Then,  with  a  sharp  tingling  thrill  of  recognition,  she 
saw  the  slight  shadowy  figure  rise  again  from  the  sand, 
and  with  a  horrible,  definite,  reckless  movement  throw 
the  scarf  aside,  and  with  arms  upstretched  as  in  sup 
plication,  run  straight  for  the  fury  of  the  wild  surf. 

Monica  heard  a  scream  which  she  did  not  recog 
nize  as  her  own,  and  straight  as  an  arrow  dashed  down 
the  cliff,  speeding  along  the  edge  of  the  roaring  surf 
and  throwing  herself  on  the  slender  figure  with  such 
force  that  both  fell,  and  the  creeping  fingers  of  the 
hungry  sea  reached  out  again  until  they  were  covered 
with  spray  and  soaked  on  the  wet  sands. 

The  girl  was  stunned,  and  Monica,  gasping  for 
breath  in  the  face  of  the  spray,  held  her  as  best 
she  could  in  the  shelter  of  her  own  body.  She  had 
no  idea  who  she  held,  only  that  it  was  some  desperate 
soul  who  perhaps  could  return  to  her  no  thanks.  She 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  275 

herself  knew  what  it  meant  to  stand  on  the  cliffs  and 
think  with  longing  of  the  rest  out  there  beneath  the 
waves. 

But  when  the  girl  stirred  and  spoke,  she  knew  the 
voice.  It  was  Hettie. 

"It  would  have  been  better  to  let  me  go  out  to 
sea,"  she  whispered.  "There  is  no  place  for  me  on 
land." 

"We  will  see,"  said  Monica  Wayne,  getting  to  her 
feet  and  helping  the  girl,  who  was  weak  and  trembling. 
"  If  you  can  walk,  we  will  go  home." 

"Home!" 

The  voice  of  the  girl  had  little  of  hope  in  it.  She 
was  too  worn,  however,  to  make  protest,  and  slowly 
she  was  led  up  the  cliff,  resting  often,  and  so  weak  that 
Monica's  arm  circled  her,  and  more  than  once  pre 
vented  her  from  sinking  to  the  ground. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  asked,  in  some  anxiety,  think 
ing  for  the  first  time  of  the  distance  to  any  one  if  help 
were  needed;  but  the  girl  sank  to  the  couch  as  they 
entered  the  living  room,  and  smiled  drearily. 

"  No,"  she  half  whispered,  "  only  it  has  been  long 
since  I  had  food;  and  I  walked,  and  —  and — walked 
to  get  here.  There  is  no  place  even  to  die  in  the 
towns." 

Monica  gave  her  one  look  of  horror  and  utter  under 
standing,  and  asked  no  more  questions.  Out  of  the 
stores  in  the  closets  she  brought  brandy  and  milk,  and 
with  an  alcohol  lamp  had  hot  soup  and  crackers,  all 


276  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

she  dared  give  her  at  first;  and  the  listless,  indifferent 
eyes  of  the  girl  smiled  wistfully  as  the  wet  clothes  were 
stripped  from  her  and  she  was  wrapped  in  garments 
soft  and  warm. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  ventured  at  last 
"You  will  think  me  wicked,  for  I  —  meant  to  do  it." 

"I  know,"  said  Monica.  " Don't  think  about  it,  or 
if  you  do,  just  think  that  you  were  sent  for  me  to  take 
care  of  tonight  because  I  needed  you." 

"  You,  need  —  me?"  and  the  tone  was  incredulous, 
yet  the  eyes  had  the  first  little  gleam  of  hope.  Oh,  if 
any  one  needed  me,  anywhere ! " 

"  Child,  the  world  is  full  of  people  who  carry  that 
same  thought,"  said  Monica,  gently.  "We  are  all 
needed  somewhere  to  help  someone." 

"But  you— " 

"Even  I — "  and  the  smile  in  Monica's  eyes  made 
the  girl  sink  back  on  the  pillow  with  a  little  sigh  of 
content.  Ere  long  she  was  sleeping  soundly,  and 
Monica  watching  her  realized  that  for  at  least  one  hour 
the  pain  had  been  driven  from  her  own  heart  by  service 
to  the  tired  little  stray. 


M 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ONICA  asked  no  questions,  and  the  girl  only 
said  wistfully  that  she  was  alone;  that  the  only 
work  she  could  get  was  too  heavy.  She  had  been  ill, 
and  then  there  had  been  no  one  to  recommend  her, 
and  she  knew  little  but  the  life  along  the  shore,  so  she 
had  come  back— but  to  be  so  hungry,  and  to  see  the 
loneliness  and  desolation  of  the  old  cabin,  and  to  have 
no  one  anywhere  in  the  world  to  go  to  —  to  tell  — 

All  at  once  she  thought  she  had  gone  kind  of  wild, 
and  the  surf  seemed  calling  her,  and  she  had  remem 
bered  a  dead  woman  who  drifted  in  from  a  wreck  to 
the  cove  one  morning  long  ago.  The  woman  had 
looked  so  peaceful,  as  if  all  the  trouble  of  the  world 
had  dropped  away  from  her,  and  she,  Hettie,  had 
remembered  that;  only  the  face  seemed  her  own  face, 
and  all  at  once  she  was  on  her  feet  and  going  to  meet 
that  peace  and  leave  the  troubles  behind,  and— that 

was  all. 

She  told  her  little  story  half  fearfully,  watching  Mrs. 
Wayne  for  sign  of  expected  disapproval,  but  could  dis 
cern  none.  Monica's  acceptance  of  the  situation  indi 
cated  that  it  was  one  of  the  natural  instincts  to  turn 
back  to  the  old  home  when  the  trails  of  the  towns  grew 
difficult;  and  of  course  when  one  is  ill  even  a  slight 

277 


278  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

touch  of  delirium  leads  one  to  do  unusual  things,  but 
she  felt  quite  sure  that  the  spray  would  have  restored 
her,  and  she  further  suggested  that  much  of  Hettie's 
fantastic  imaginings  was  due  to  the  fact  that  she  had 
simply  fainted  on  the  sands  from  utter  exhaustion  — 
she  had  never  really  made  an  attempt  to  throw  her 
self  into  that  churning  whirlpool,  swinging  in  over  the 
sunken  reefs. 

Hettie  Craig  listened  gratefully,  and  all  her  tired 
little  soul  was  given  strength  by  the  woman  who  was 
so  wonderful  to  her,  who  understood,  who  wrapped  her 
in  soft  robes,  and  laughed  at  her,  who  slipped  Indian 
moccasins  on  her  feet,  and  assured  her  that  with  her 
straight  dark  hair  arranged  in  the  right  fashion,  she 
would  make  a  very  interesting  little  mana,  or  Indian 
maid. 

All  this  in  a  gay,  friendly  way,  carrying  with  it  no 
hint  of  condescension.  It  was  as  if  in  truth  she  was 
needed,  and  as  if  this  wonder  woman  was  really  waiting 
there  alone  for  her  at  the  edge  of  the  land! 

Monica  made  sketches  of  her  in  various  costumes, 
and  delighted  her  soul  by  the  assurance  that  she  could 
make  use  of  her  as  a  model.  Her  oval  face  with  the 
great  eyes,  and  tender,  childish  lips,  offered  a  type 
valuable  for  angelic,  or  Madonna  studies.  Monica 
wondered  how  she  had  failed  to  notice  it  before,  but 
attributed  it  to  the  fact  that  the  dressing  of  her  hair 
had  been  the  usual  popular  and  unbecoming  village 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  279 

mode;  but  with  a  narrow  fillet,  and  braided  hair  over 
her  ears  she  looked  early  Italian.  With  a  jeweled  net 
and  a  gossamer  veil,  a  Venetian  girl  smiled  wistfully 
out  from  the  drawing  Monica  showed  her  after  a  brief 
half  hour  of  work,  and  the  profile  had  all  the  sugges 
tion  of  childish  curves  such  as  Lippo  loved  to  paint. 
Monica  thought  of  the  prior's  niece  and  smiled  and 
sketched  with  eager  interest,  knowing  that  each  brief 
study  was  as  a  lifeline  thrown  to  the  girl. 

The  words  of  Monica  seemed  to  the  little  stray 
simply  too  good  to  be  true.  She  had  never  thought  of 
herself  as  pretty,  and  the  idea  that  her  face  could  have 
a  value  to  an  artist,  when  no  one  would  offer  labor  for 
her  hands,  was  too  wild  a  fancy  for  her  to  entertain. 

Monica  saw  the  trembling  doubt  in  the  girl's  face, 
and  without  further  words  went  to  work  in  a  method 
ical,  business-like  way;  one  brief  pose  after  another, 
until  Hettie  was  dazzled  and  transformed  by  the  hope 
beating  again  through  her  veins.  At  last  she  had  been 
shown  that  even  the  wildest  dream  could  come  true. 

She  broke  down  and  wept  in  sheer  gratitude.  The 
saving  of  her  life  had  brought  only  a  doubtful  joy,  but 
the  hope  of  making  the  life  of  use,  of  use  to  the  woman 
who  seemed  to  her  to  hold  magic  in  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  —  that  was  as  the  very  gift  of  the  gods! 

Monica  threatened  to  draw  her  with  her  eyes  swol 
len  and  her  nose  red,  if  she  persisted  in  shedding  tears 
over  the  fact  that  she  had  found  an  easy  job,  which 


280  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

prosaic  statement  made  her  laugh  and  promise  to  be 
good,  even  good  enough  to  pose  for  the  angels  Mrs. 
Wayne  declared  she  needed  for  certain  windows. 

Thus,  with  a  light  touch  of  humor  here,  and  a  bit  of 
serious  encouragement  there,  the  girl  was  as  one  new 
born  under  the  tender,  watchful  care  of  Monica 
Wayne.  She  went  from  room  to  room  as  in  a  happy 
dream,  her  thin  face  radiant;  and  the  woman,  watching 
her,  was  grateful  as  the  homeless  child,  for  it  had 
brought,  at  the  right  moment,  a  new  appeal  to  her  own 
life. 

It  also  brought  a  needed  link  with  the  outer  world. 
She  need  no  longer  sail  miles  down  the  coast  to  pur 
chase  the  little  necessities  of  daily  life.  With  Hettie 
as  errand  girl  the  seclusion  was  simplified.  She  needed 
no  other  maid,  and  if  the  spirit  moved  her  she  could 
resume  her  work  and  carry  it  on  indefinitely,  or  until 
her  own  troubled  mind  could  see  through  the  troubling 
mists. 

A  day  before  she  would  have  resented  the  intrusion 
of  any  mortal  soul  from  the  outer  world,  but  the  abso 
lute  dependence  of  the  girl  for  life  itself,  struck  a  new 
chord  to  which  her  own  nature  responded,  all  the  more 
that  the  girl  asked  never  a  question,  had  never  a 
thought  that  it  was  even  strange  to  find  Mrs.  Wayne 
alone  here  on  the  deserted  shore.  To  her  adoring 
heart  nothing  was  strange  that  Mrs.  Wayne  should 
choose  to  do,  and  the  magic  of  the  art  work  gave 
reason  for  all  things. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  281 

She  never  referred  to  the  Dacy  household  or  aught 
connected  with  them,  and  that  also  was  a  dread  swept 
aside.  In  her  own  avoidance  of  them  it  did  not  even 
occur  to  Monica  that  it  was  strange  a  little  village  girl 
should  not  mention  the  one  family  where  she  had 
been  half  maid,  half  seamstress. 

Two  days  went  by  like  that,  drifting  Indian  sum 
mer  days  of  a  sort  of  readjustment. 

The  ache  in  the  heart  was  no  less,  nor  the  loneliness, 
nor  the  keen  shame  at  the  thought  of  a  possible  meet 
ing;  but  there  was  new  work  given  to  her  hand,  and 
with  a  deeper  understanding  of  pain  than  she  had  ever 
known,  she  aroused  herself  to  meet  it. 

To  Hettie  she  gave  only  one  bit  of  instruction  — 
not  to  mention  her  presence,  and  to  make  clear  to  any 
possible  inquirer  the  fact  that  she,  Hettie,  was  taking 
care  of  the  house  as  her  grandfather  had  formerly 
done;  in  this  way  no  villager  or  fisherman  could  have 
any  query  or  even  comment  on  the  fact  that  one  cottage 
out  of  the  many  along  the  shore  was  occupied. 

Monica  was  considering  the  chances  of  sending 
Hettie  to  the  studio  with  an  order  to  Rosa  for  her  mail 
and  other  necessaries  —  she  dared  not  write  —  when 
the  weather  turned  suddenly  murky;  danger  signals 
were  run  up  along  the  coast,  and  Hettie  busied  herself 
getting  in  the  driftwood  from  the  great  wood  house 
in  the  rear.  With  the  instinct  of  a  shore  girl  she  went 
about  preparing  for  the  periodical  storm  of  the  equi- 


282  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

noctial,  trusting  that  moon  and  tide  would  not  combine 
to  strengthen  its  fury. 

Monica,  who  had  never  seen  the  great  autumn 
storms  of  the  North  Atlantic,  only  laughed  at  her 
various  preparations,  and  contented  herself  with  see 
ing  that  the  boat  was  snug  and  in  perfect  condition. 
She  had  the  feeling  that  she  would  like  just  once  to  go 
out  in  the  face  of  a  gale,  and  see  what  did  happen 
away  out  there  beyond  the  visible  reefs,  where  strange 
sea  stories  were  laid. 

"  You  would  not  want  to  go  if  you  had  ever  heard 
the  guns  of  distress  thundering  out  there/*  said  Hettie, 
shaking  her  head,  "or  if  you  had  ever  stood  on  the 
rocks  and  counted  the  dead  men,  and  women  too,  who 
drifted  in  and  out,  in  and  out,  of  the  cove!  I  have 
seen  that  sort  of  thing  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember. 
I  guess  it  must  have  stamped  itself  on  my  mind,  that 
picture,  so  that  when  I  —  lost  myself  I  saw  it  all  over 
again,  only  one  of  the  girls  had  my  face,  and  I  thought 
it  meant — " 

"  It  meant  that  you  were  hungry  and  tired,  and 
nothing  more,"  said  Monica,  promptly,  "and  as  you 
do  not  need  to  travel  by  water  to  Manhattan  I  still 
think  I  will  send  you.  I  will  write  out  every  direction, 
and  the  list  of  articles  I  require.  I  told  Rosa  I  would 
be  back  or  send  word  in  a  week.  You  will  be  the  word. 
You  have  been  to  Boston?" 

"Yes,  once." 

"  Then  you  know  enough  to  travel  alone  that  little 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  283 

journey  of  a  day.  You  can  take  a  cab  from  the  depot 
to  my  door,  and  Rosa  will  start  you  safely  on  the 
return  trip.  In  forty-eight  hours  you  will  be  back,  and 
no  one  the  worse,  or  the  wiser/* 

"But  if  it  should  storm  —  and  you  alone?" 

"  Don't  be  foolish.  If  I  had  not  found  you  would 
I  not  be  alone?  I  am  no  worse  off,  indeed  I  am  much 
better,  for  you  have  all  things  prepared  for  any  sort 
of  storm  siege,  and  the  sooner  you  go  the  more  service 
you  will  be  to  me.  I  shall  stay  here  to  work,  and  you 
will  return  to  help  me,  and  Rosa  will  keep  the  city 
studio  in  order  for  the  day  when  I  go  back,  and  to 
no  one  must  either  of  you  mention  my  present  haven." 

She  took  the  girl  in  a  boat  to  a  shore  village,  where 
she  was  safely  started  on  her  little  errand  to  the  south, 
and  then,  with  a  few  needed  articles  for  their  camp 
table,  she  headed  the  boat  out  again  into  deep  water  to 
circle  the  dangerous  reefs  thrust  out  like  great  skele 
ton  fingers  from  the  shore,  and  discernible  only  at 
times  by  the  white  foam  breaking  over  and  away,  and 
ever  returning. 

The  wind  of  which  Hettie  was  afraid  had  modi 
fied,  and  there  was  a  warmth  in  the  air  slightly  differ 
ent  from  the  crisp  autumn  chill  to  which  they  had  grown 
accustomed.  The  sky  was  overcast,  and  to  the  south 
east  was  a  long  yellow  streak  touching  the  dark  sea  at 
the  horizon. 

A  steamer  speeding  down  from  the  banks  was  show 
ing  a  bit  of  hull  and  trail  of  smoke,  but  all  smaller 


284  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

craft  were  scuttling  into  harbor,  and  hugging  the  shore 
where  shelter  offered.  Some  men  in  a  small  fishing 
smack  stood  at  the  low  rail  and  shouted  at  her  as  she 
headed  north,  but  she  could  understand  nothing  but 
their  gestures  directed  to  the  yellow  haze  widening 
over  the  far,  black  sea. 

Even  though  it  should  be  wind,  and  much  wind,  she 
was  going  directly  away  from  it.  Only  little  puffs  of 
warm  air  struck  her  at  times,  barely  enough  to  keep  sail 
filled.  In  less  than  an  hour  she  would  be  in  the  cove 
with  two  entire  days  alone,  to  think  of  — 

She  was  guiltily  conscious  of  the  fact  that  she  needed 
those  two  days  alone.  After  planning  every  step  of 
the  way  for  Hettie,  and  safeguarding  each  move,  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  wandered  far  from  her  real  self  and 
must  fly  back  to  the  silence  where  the  thought  of  him 
waited  for  her! 

It  was  a  joy  to  remember  that  once  at  least  he  had 
set  sail  and  skimmed  the  water  in  her  own  little  boat  — 
that  strange,  wonderful  day  when  they  had  spoken  in 
guarded  tones,  each,  as  she  knew  now,  afraid,  afraid. 

Thus  every  bit  of  sea  and  shore  spoke  to  her  of  him, 
though  they  had  walked  beside  each  other  but  twice. 
The  words  they  had  spoken  aloud  could  so  easily  be 
counted,  but  the  unspoken  — 

All  these  memories  came  back  to  her  with  a  rush 
as  she  turned  homeward  alone.  The  dreams  she  had 
driven  away  came  back,  and  even  the  pain  of  them  was 
sweet.  By  a  sort  of  instinct  she  steered  the  boat  and 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  28$ 

shortened  sail  as  the  wind  freshened  in  little  gusts.  She 
was  scudding  over  the  darkening  water,  her  eyes  pick 
ing  out  here  and  there  the  little  lines  of  white  where 
the  water  foamed  over  the  great  jaws  of  the  hidden 
reefs. 

With  her  eyes  ahead,  feeling  her  way  into  the  mouth 
of  the  cove,  she  had  turned  her  back  on  the  yellow 
haze  above  the  horizon,  and,  glad  of  the  strengthening 
wind,  gave  little  heed  that  the  murkiness  was  shot  by 
far  smothered  flashes  from  which  no  sound  reached 
her. 

And  then,  above  the  song  of  the  wind,  and  the  music 
of  swirling  water  at  the  prow,  there  came  the  shriek 
and  rumble  of  the  thing  following  in  her  wake  like  a 
great  vulture  of  the  sea  with  widespread  wings !  The 
queer  yellow  light  swept  over  her  and  touched  the 
water  with  strange  reflections,  the  far  cliffs  looked 
almost  green  for  an  instant,  and  then  the  wind  struck 
the  boat,  tearing  away  the  mast  like  a  broken  match 
tossed  aside.  The  water  was  piled  up  like  an  incom 
ing  wall  of  black.  Even  in  the  shock  of  it  she  seemed 
to  have  seen  that  same  wall,  or  one  suggesting  it,  long, 
long  ago. 

It  had  been  in  the  desert  when  a  cloudburst  sent  a 
volume  of  water  down  a  dry  canon  bed,  and  she  had 
urged  her  horse  to  a  higher  level  and  watched  it  come, 
the  head  of  it  reared  high  like  that  of  a  white-crested 
serpent. 

Just  so  did  the  crashing  water  break  over  the  floor 


286  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

of  the  sea  as  a  tidal  wave  borne  onward  by  the  hurri 
cane  sweeping  landward. 

It  seemed  to  lift  the  little  craft  bodily  and  dash  it 
forward,  and  the  girl  clinging  to  the  tiller  was  thrown 
with  such  force  that  her  arms  seemed  torn  from  their 
sockets. 

For  a  moment  she  was  stunned  and  lay  helpless  at 
the  mercy  of  the  shrieking  fury,  but  when  she  recov 
ered  her  hands  had  never  loosened  their  grip.  She 
even  had  the  thought  that  if  the  boat  had  gone  under 
it  would  have  been  found  long  after  with  her  hands 
still  gripped  around  the  tiller. 

But  it  did  not  go  under,  and  it  was  driven  straight 
in  shore  into  that  circle  of  the  cove  where  Hettie  had 
told  her  the  dead  moved  with  other  wreckage,  around 
and  around  after  disastrous  storms. 

And  she  was  going  into  it  straight  ahead  of  the  howl 
ing  gale.  At  worst  she  had  anticipated  only  a  slight 
squall  which  she  would  easily  outride,  but  this  name 
less  monster  of  the  deep  was  akin  to  nothing  she  had 
ever  seen  on  the  north  coast.  In  Mexican  waters  she 
had  seen  the  swift  tropic  hurricane  level  everything  to 
be  destroyed  of  wind  and  water,  and  this  sudden  wild 
rage  of  the  elements  had  nothing  of  the  temperate 
zone  in  it. 

In  a  calm  sea  there  were  little  stretches  of  sandy 
shore  visible  between  the  boulders,  but  now  the  whole 
cove  was  a  boiling  seething  caldron,  and  the  sea 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  287 

seemed  to  run  mountains  high,  shutting  out  all  but  the 
sky  and  the  higher  cliffs.  The  waves  swinging  in 
roared  like  thunder  as  they  smashed  on  the  titanic 
boulders,  and  the  sturdy  little  boat  was  as  an  empty 
shell  tossed  from  summit  to  summit  of  the  huge 
rollers. 

Great  curves  of  white  spray  passed  clear  over  her, 
a  canopy  of  foam,  and  kneeling,  clinging  to  the  tiller, 
she  was  swamped  to  the  waist  by  the  wash  of  the 
water. 

Straight  on  a  lee  shore  she  was  being  driven  by  the 
gale,  and  in  her  mind  was  only  one  question  —  would 
the  boat  go  under  before  reaching  the  shore,  or  could 
she  be  able  to  keep  it  head-on  before  the  wind  with  the 
thought  that  the  tremendous  force  might  lift  it  clear 
to  the  unseen  beach?  And  if  it  were  the  rocks  — 

She  could  hear  the  muffled  thunder  of  the  surf  above 
the  shriek  of  the  gale,  and  somewhere  out  of  the  low 
roll  of  black  clouds  came  short,  sharp  reports  and 
the  ceaseless  glare  of  the  artillery  of  hurricanes. 

Kneeling,  throwing  all  her  strength  on  the  tiller, 
peering  ahead  through  the  spray,  she  caught  one 
glimpse  of  the  shore  from  the  crest  of  a  wave  ere  she 
plunged  downward  into  a  maelstrom  where  all  the 
world  was  a  swirl  of  white  foam. 

But  in  that  one  glimpse  she  had  the  numb  fear 
strike  her  of  having  lost  her  way.  There  was  no  mo 
ment  to  think  or  reason  concerning  it,  but  in  her  own 


288  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

cove  there  would  be  no  boat,  and  for  one  instant  she 
had  caught  the  white  outline  of  a  small  sail-boat  tug 
ging  at  its  anchor  as  it  strove  towards  the  shore. 

But  she  did  not  see  a  man  who  stood  braced  against 
the  gale  by  the  aid  of  the  two  upright  oars  he  held 
planted  in  the  sand.  The  small  rowboat  was  at  his 
feet  placed  for  launching  if  need  be,  and  coatless  and 
shoeless  he  peered  into  the  storm-driven  spray,  watch 
ing  each  wave  crest  crashing  on  the  rock  beside  him  — 
if  only  that  crippled  little  craft  might  strike  the  beach 
instead  of  the  wall  of  brown  boulders! 

But  it  did  not.  There  was  the  sharp  crackle  of 
splintered  timbers,  and  then  a  white  face  with  closed 
eyes  under  the  green  water.  Once  it  was  drawn  back  as 
if  to  the  maw  of  the  hungry  sea,  but  when  it  appeared 
again  the  man  followed  it  into  the  surf. 

When  Monica  was  conscious  of  anything  but  the 
shock  of  water  in  the  ears,  and  the  cutting  pain  in  the 
lungs,  she  found  herself  being  rolled  on  the  sand  by 
a  man  whose  forehead  had  an  ugly  gash  from  which 
the  blood  ran.  It  had  made  a  hideous  mark  down  his 
cheek  and  neck,  and  the  shoulder  of  his  shirt  was 
soaked  by  it. 

She  put  up  her  hand  weakly,  and  touched  his  cheek. 

"  This  time  the  flood  did  not  divide  us ! "  she  whis 
pered. 

He  thought  her  delirious,  and  as  she  sank  again  into 
unconsciousness  he  lifted  her,  and  staggering  in  the 
gale  under  the  dead  weight,  made  his  way  up  the  path 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  289 

to  the  cottage,  laid  his  burden  on  the  long  seat  in  the 
veranda,  opened  a  window  enabling  him  to  unbolt  a 
side  door,  made  a  raid  on  pantry  and  sideboard,  and 
when  she  next  wakened  it  was  with  the  stinging  of  raw 
brandy  in  her  throat,  her  own  brandy  in  her  own 
house !  She  was  wrapped  in  a  blanket  like  a  mummy 
while  the  man  was  striking  matches  and  starting  a  fire. 

He  was  still  coatless  and  shoeless  and  dripping. 
He  smiled  at  her  over  his  shoulder  as  she  drew  a  deep, 
audible  breath,  and  reached  out  one  hand,  patting  her 
shoulder. 

"Good  girl!"  he  said,  approvingly;  but  she  made 
no  reply,  only  stared  at  him  as  he  adjusted  the  kindling 
and  sent  the  flames  leaping  high  in  the  old  chimney. 

Then,  unmindful  of  his  gruesome  appearance,  or 
her  silence  and  frightened  eyes,  he  unwound  the  blan 
ket  from  about  her  and  gathered  her  close  —  close  in 
his  arms. 

"You  must  not!  You  must — not!"  she  mut 
tered,  striving  to  evade  his  lips;  but  he  held  her  pro 
testing  hand  and  laughed  as  she  sank  back  in  his  arms, 
breathless  from  his  kisses. 

"Must  I  not?"  he  demanded,  in  fond  derision. 
"Don't  you  know  that  you  are  mine  —  my  treasure 
trove !  I  stole  you  from  the  sea,  shall  I  give  you  up 
again?  And  you  love  me,  you  know  you  do!  You 
stopped  the  Twilight  letters  because  you  loved  me! 
You  have  frozen  me  and  mocked  me,  and  put  me  in 
hell  because  you  loved  me !  And  now  —  now  you  have 


290  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

applied  for  that  divorce  because  you  love  me;  and  I 
have  come  at  last  for  my  own,  my  very  own,  because  — 
you  love  me !  " 

"Nell!"  she  whispered,  sobbingly. 

But  he  smiled,  and  drew  her  turned-away  face 
towards  him,  that  he  could  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Nell  is  somewhere  east  of  that  hurricane  on  her 
wedding  trip,"  he  observed;  uand  with  Tony  along 
she  will  heed  the  war  of  the  elements  as  little  as  you 
and  I  do  here." 

" Nell  —  and  Tony?" 

All  her  world  was  changing,  and  he  watched  the 
reflection  of  the  changes  in  the  eyes  he  had  thought  of 
as  shadowed  flame.  The  shadows  were  drifting  far, 
and  hope  was  lighting  new  fires  there.  For  the  first 
time  she  dared  meet  his  look  without  fear. 

"And  you  know  —  the  letters  —  and  —  and  all?" 

"  All !  "  he  stated,  promptly.  "  My  heart  was  clam 
oring  to  tell  it  to  me  from  the  first  moment,  but  you 
lied  so  wonderfully.  God!  how  you  tortured  me! 
Will  you  make  amends?  —  will  you?  You  are  mine 
now;  no  human  thing  shall  ever  come  between  us 
again.  Do  you  know  that  you  went  into  the  long  sleep 
under  that  water  and  that  I  —  I  brought  you  back  into 
life  ?  You  reached  your  hand  to  me  down  there  when 
you  said  'The  flood  could  not  divide  us.'  You  were 
half  unconscious,  you  did  not  know,  but — " 

"Ah!"  she  breathed,  lifting  her  hand  and  drawing 
his  head  more  close,  "but  I  did  knowl  Oh,  Love, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  291 

Love,  how  blind  you  were!  That  other  time  —  the 
flood  of  the  San  Juan  River  —  when  I  rode — " 

"  When  you  rode—  I" 

"And  you  saw  me,  and  did  not  remember,"  she 
went  on  softly,  "and  I  looked  at  you,  and  —  never 
forgot!  So  close  our  trails,  and  then  —  the  world  be 
tween!  Yes,  don't  let  me  go  from  you  again  —  I  will 
make  amends ! " 


CHAPTER  XV 

wreckage  along  the  north  shore  when  the 
usual  equinoctial  and  the  unusual  hurricane  ar 
rived  on  the  same  date,  left  the  beaches  strewn  with 
wreckage. 

Land  and  shore  had  suffered  in  that  houses  were 
unroofed,  as  well  as  seagoing  craft  dragged  under  and 
thrown  back  in  fragments  on  the  shore.  For  six  hours 
the  tempest  crashed,  followed  by  floods  of  rain, 
making  investigation  of  damages  most  difficult. 

A  steamer  had  gone  ashore  south  of  Dacy's  Har 
bor,  and  that  tragedy  monopolized  the  local  wires  to 
the  extent  that  the  Dacys  found  it  impossible  to  secure 
detailed  information  concerning  the  manner  in  which 
the  storm  had  dealt  with  their  own  shore  property. 
Telephone  wires  were  down,  and  chaos  ruled  along 
the  coast.  Hettie  Craig,  hastening  north,  was  filled 
with  dread  of  the  dangers  for  Mrs.  Wayne  during  the 
forty-eight  hours  of  her  absence  —  the  accounts  of  the 
storm  were  so  terrible,  and  the  house  so  alone,  abso 
lutely  isolated  by  the  tempest — and  as  she  read  on  the 
train  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the  wreckage  and  loss 
of  life,  she  was  conscious  of  the  wish  that  Mrs.  Wayne 
would  at  least  keep  enough  in  touch  with  the  outer 
world  to  have  a  telephone  installed  in  the  cottage.  She 

292 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  293 

need  not  give  any  attention  to  it  unless  she  chose,  yet 
in  case  of  an  emergency  — 

Her  thought  on  the  subject  was  interrupted  by  a  fa 
miliar  voice,  and  from  behind  her  paper  she  caught 
sight  of  the  back  of  Mr.  Dacy's  head.  He  was  greet 
ing  a  shore  neighbor,  who,  like  himself,  was  bound 
northward  to  see  personally  as  to  damages  done  by  the 
unusual  storm,  and  repairs  to  be  arranged  for  ere 
winter. 

"  Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "  it  is  a  nuisance  to  have  to 
run  back  just  after  getting  packed  and  away;  but  there 
is  the  Wayne  cottage  as  well  as  our  own,  and  the 
man  supposed  to  be  in  charge  of  my  place  can't  be 
reached  —  out  helping  with  the  wrecks,  I  suppose  — 
so  we  thought  we  would  run  up,  Wayne  and  me." 

Hettie  fairly  held  her  breath  to  listen,  but  the  rum 
ble  of  the  train  drowned  their  voices  as  it  moved  out 
of  a  station. 

The  name  of  Wayne  did  not  convey  to  her  any 
special  interest.  She  knew  Mrs.  Dacy's  name  had 
been  Wayne,  but  of  what  use  this  secret  hurried  jour 
ney  of  hers  to  a  strange  city  for  the  letters  and  other 
personal  things  of  Mrs.  Wayne  if  the  hurricane  was 
sending  her  relatives  to  inspect  her  cottage  and  see 
that  it  was  safe? 

Of  course  they  would  see  it  was  inhabited,  and  her 
privacy  would  be  ended! 

The  mind  of  the  girl  worked  very  fast  to  plan  how 
she  could  get  out  of  the  depot  at  Gloucester  and  se- 


294  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

cure  a  conveyance  to  reach  the  shore  before  the  more 
experienced  travelers.  She  had  a  deadly  dread  of 
automobiles,  but  of  course  that  was  the  most  certain 
way  of  leaving  Mr.  Dacy  behind  and  warning  Mrs. 
Wayne. 

The  weather  had  turned  slightly  colder  after  the 
storm,  and  there  would  be  a  cheery  fire  in  the  old  fire 
place,  and  —  smoke!  If  she  could  only  get  there  in 
time  to  erase  all  evidence  of  occupancy,  or  at  the  worst 
assume  the  care  of  the  place  under  a  written  order 
and  help  Mrs.  Wayne  to  remain  personally  in  the 
background!  She  concluded  that  would  be  best;  for 
the  stay  of  Mr.  Dacy  would  be  brief,  a  day  perhaps, 
and  it  would  be  easy  to  manage  secrecy  for  a  day. 

She  was  all  aglow  with  her  little  plans  to  help  the 
woman  who  had  helped  her.  To  the  man  with  Mr. 
Dacy  she  gave  little  heed,  only  noting  that  he  was  a 
stranger,  middle-aged,  stout,  with  a  heavy  face  and 
dark,  restless  eyes,  extremely  well  dressed,  and  very 
much  bored.  He  grumbled  about  the  quality  of  the 
whiskey  in  the  highball  he  had  drunk  before  lunch,  and 
brought  forth  a  silver  flask  of  which  he  was  generous 
in  his  desire  that  Mr.  Dacy  sample  the  contents. 

"  It  won't  do,  Wayne,"  said  the  latter,  shakmg  his 
head,  "this  is  our  Sunday  school  route,  and  I  have  to 
travel  over  it  other  days  with  your  aunt,  who  is  con 
tinually  on  the  prohibition  ticket.  You  'd  better  cut  it 
out  until  we  get  in  the  open,  and  if  there  is  nothing  in 
the  house  to  eat  that  flask  may  be  a  life  preserver.'* 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  295 

Hettie  fastened  a  veil  over  the  simple  little  hat 
Monica  had  found  for  her,  and  as  the  train  slowed  up 
she  was  already  at  the  car  door,  a  suitcase  in  her  hand, 
waiting  nervously  to  step  to  the  platform  at  the  first 
possible  moment. 

"Shapely  little  filly/'  remarked  the  gentleman  with 
Mr.  Dacy,  and  shrugged  at  the  quick  gesture  of  re 
proof  lest  the  girl  hear. 

"Oh,  the  national  flower — *  touch-me-not !' — "  he 
observed,  with  careless  good  humor.  "  A  man  would 
need  to  get  acclimated  again  to  that  sort  traveling 
alone." 

Mr.  Dacy  reminded  him  of  the  former  reference  to 
the  "Sunday  school  route,"  and  added  that  the  girl 
might  hear. 

The  girl  did  hear,  but  stood  rigid,  not  turning  lest 
Mr.  Dacy  recognize  her  even  through  the  veil  —  a 
rather  unlikely  possibility,  as  she  had  been  employed 
by  his  wife  but  for  a  short  time,  and  had  come  but 
slightly  to  his  notice.  When  gentlemen  went  down  to 
the  little  cabin  in  the  cove,  her  grandfather  had  kept 
her  as  much  as  possible  in  the  background. 

She  had  a  slight  wonder  that  Mr.  Dacy  was  abroad 
with  a  man  who  spoke  thus,  though  of  course  she  knew 
that  gentlemen  out  in  fishing  parties  were  rather  free 
sometimes,  and  of  course  if  it  was  Mr.  Dacy's 
nephew  — 

It  never  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  be  Mrs. 
Wayne's  husband  who  lived  abroad,  and  of  whom  no 


296  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

one  must  ask  a  question  in  the  Dacy  household.  All 
knew  there  was  some  scandal,  and  that  the  Dacys  were 
humiliated  by  it,  and  devoted  to  his  girl  wife,  and 
beyond  that  Hettie  knew  nothing.  She  had  mentally 
pictured  the  man  as  a  very  satanic-looking  creature, 
very  dark  and  sinister,  clothed  in  black,  and  wearing 
diamond  scarfpin,  studs,  and  sleeve  links,  and  eyes 
ever  restless,  glittering  like  his  own  jewels. 

Some  such  fancy  was  in  her  girlish  mind,  and  the1 
careless,  flirtatious  man  with  the  smile  and  the  bored 
expression  did  not  at  all  fit  the  picture.  He  looked 
like  any  stout,  well-fed,  prosperous  man,  who  had 
perhaps  taken  a  drink  too  much;  and  after  the  years  of 
life  with  her  grandfather  she  knew  that  such  things 
could  happen  with  even  good  men. 

So,  with  a  frightened,  fast-beating  heart,  she  trusted 
herself  to  an  automobile  at  the  station,  and  giving  the 
name  of  the  road  to  the  chauffeur,  was  whirled  swiftly 
through  the  town  and  out  to  the  far  shore,  looking 
back  occasionally  to  see  if  by  any  chance  there  was 
another  machine  in  sight;  but  her  thoughts  were  all 
of  Mr.  Dacy,  his  companion  was  not  even  remem 
bered. 

She  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  reached  the 
cottage,  and  telling  the  chauffeur  to  wait,  fairly  ran  up 
the  path  and  into  the  open  door.  Monica  stood  there 
smiling  and  looking  out  past  her  to  the  waiting  car. 

uWhat  a  flitting  fairy  you  are!"  she  said,  reaching 


The  IV oman  of  the  Twilight  297 

for  a  purse  in  a  cabinet  drawer.  u  Did  you  spend 
all  your  pennies  and  hold  the  car  waiting  for  toll?" 

"Oh,  no!  It  is  Mr.  Dacy  —  on  the  same  train  1 
He  did  not  see  me,  but  he  is  coming  to  learn  the  dam 
age  done  by  the  storm,  so  —  he  will  come  here  too  — 
and  I  thought  —  perhaps — " 

uYou  thought  perhaps  I  would  need  a  waiting 
chariot  in  case  I  wanted  to  avoid  him,"  suggested 
Monica,  as  the  girl  hesitated.  "Well,  I  don't  think 
I  mind  Uncle  Dacy,  so  pay  your  man  and  come  in. 
You  have  been  a  good,  faithful  little  helper." 

Hettie  did  as  she  was  bidden,  but  wondered  a  little 
at  Mrs.  Wayne's  sudden  change  of  feeling  as  to  utter 
privacy;  and  while  she  put  aside  her  traveling  clothes 
and  made  tea,  Monica  looked  over  the  mail  she  had 
brought,  noting  with  a  smile  two  envelopes  with  the 
writing  of  Sargent.  How  determined  he  had  been 
to  find  her,  and  how  wonderful,  wonderful  the  finding 
had  been! 

As  Hettie  voiced  her  own  dread  of  what  the  hurri 
cane  might  have  meant  to  Mrs.  Wayne,  the  latter  sim 
ply  stated  that  her  boat  had  been  destroyed  in  it, 
which  was  no  doubt  a  trifle  as  compared  with  other 
tragedies  along  the  shore.  No,  the  hurricane  had 
brought  her  no  losses. 

Then,  opening  one  of  the  envelopes  on  which  was 
the  stamp  of  a  religious  sisterhood  in  Manhattan,  she 
uttered  a  little  cry  of  surprise  and  delight.  She  had 


298  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

supposed  it  some  appeal  for  chanty,  and  it  proved 
to  be  a  letter  from  Dona  Carmel,  now  a  lay  sister  in  a 
Spanish  convent  or  shelter  for  homeless  girls  in  New 
York.  Her  vocation  had  taken  her  to  Mexico,  then 
to  Cuba,  and  now,  after  many  changes,  she  was  near 
her  little  Querida,  whose  happiness  she  prayed  for. 

The  eyes  of  her  "  Querida  "  were  wet  with  tears  at 
the  fondness  showing  through  the  lines,  and  as  to  the 
prayers  —  the  changes  had  surely  been  many,  and  the 
years  had  been  long,  but  it  had  come  at  last  —  the 
happiness ! 

"I  have  brought  you  good  news?"  ventured  Net 
tie,  noting  the  smile,  the  tears,  and  the  smiles  again. 

"  Yes,  it  is  dear  news,  happy  news,"  replied  Monica, 
as  she  slipped  the  two  unopened  envelopes  under  the 
surplice  of  her  waist  —  the  two  letters  not  to  be 
opened  except  when  alone.  "  All  the  world  seems  full 
of  happy  news,  and  look  at  the  wonderful  sunlight  on 
the  water!  The  glow  there  is  like  a  promise  that 
there  will  never  be  storms  again." 

She  was  sipping  her  tea  and  gazing  out  over  the 
water  where,  only  an  hour  before,  Sargent  had  sailed 
north  into  what  looked  like  a  rosy  sea  of  gladness. 
All  the  glamor  of  those  wonderful  storm-bound  hours 
was  over  her,  and  the  low  sun  lit  up  sea  and  sky  as  if 
touched  by  the  glory  of  the  love  days. 

How  narrow  all  the  life  she  had  lived  without 
knowing  joy  beyond  the  desire  for  work  well  done! 
How  selfish  that  seemed  to  her  now  —  her  own  work. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  299 

But  to  be  a  part  of  the  work  he  might  do,  to  be  a 
part  of  the  life  he  must  live,  that  was  as  if  the  very 
skies  had  opened  and  closed  her  into  sanctuary — with 
him! 

That  Love  had  been  their  only  priest  was  not  a 
matter  of  which  she  even  thought,  unless  in  joy  that 
thus  the  world  and  all  thought  of  the  world  was  shut 
out  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  mighty  elements.  In 
a  little  while,  a  very  little  while,  the  world  could  know, 
and  they  could  walk  openly  hand  in  hand;  yet,  while 
she  treasured  the  thought,  she  was  so  sure  that  no 
sanction  of  the  world  would  ever  make  her  more  the 
other  half  of  his  life  than  their  love  vows  under  the 
fury  and  harmony  of  the  mighty  tempest.  It  had  been 
as  if  the  hurricane  had  folded  curtains  of  secrecy 
around  their  enchanted  walls. 

And  Dacy  had  come !  It  was  just  as  well;  she  need 
be  hidden  from  no  one  now  since  the  one  man  had 
found  her,  and  claimed  her,  and  made  her  queen  as 
only  Love  can! 

Alone  in  her  bedchamber  she  opened  and  read  the 
two  letters  —  one  containing  the  card  on  which  she  had 
written  the  brief  message  for  Mrs.  Dacy,  and  what  a 
mad,  jubilant,  imploring  letter  it  was !  The  other  was 
more  brief,  telling  her  how  useless  it  was  to  hide  her 
self,  since  he  looked  forward  to  a  long  life-time,  and 
all  of  it  would  be  given  to  the  one  search  if  need  be. 

There  was  a  letter  from  Hallet  informing  her  that 
he  had  rushed  the  application  for  divorce;  in  fact,  he 


3OO  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

had  made  all  preparations  in  the  summer  with  the 
hope  that  she  would  some  day  ask  just  that  service 
from  him.  He  would  like,  of  course,  to  know  where 
she  was,  and  when  they  might  hope  to  see  her  again; 
but  her  action  in  leaving  met  with  his  approval,  for 
otherwise  the  Dacys  might  have  tried  to  influence  her, 
making  her  at  least  temporarily  unhappy,  and  even 
Mr.  Wayne  — 

She  did  not  care  in  the  least  to  read  what  the  Dacys 
and  Mr.  Wayne  might  try  to  do.  They  seemed  to 
belong  to  a  life  she  had  lived  ages  ago,  and  she  put 
the  letter  aside,  and  slipped  the  other  two  back  into 
her  bosom  as  if  to  keep  the  thought  of  the  one  man 
close  —  close  in  a  tangible  way.  She  had  walked  so 
long  in  the  very  shadow  of  his  thought,  and  the  avowal 
of  it  was  so  sweet,  and  new,  and  strange,  that  it  would 
seem  less  like  a  wonderful  dream  if  she  had  his 
written  words  there  on  her  breast. 

She  was  going  down  to  tell  Hettie  of  Dona  Carmel, 
and  the  home  for  girls  where  she  could  be  placed  a 
while,  a  little  while  —  dear  Dona  Carmel,  who  had 
shielded  her  own  girlhood  as  best  she  knew!  Then, 
after  a  brief  season,  another  home  might  be  arranged 

—  of  that  other  home  she  dared  not  speak  as  yet; 
but  the  thought  of  it  was  sweet  beyond  words,  and  she 
had  for  Hettie  the  protective  feeling  earned  by  right 
of  benefits  conferred.     Ah !  there  were  such  Keautiful 
years  to  be  lived,  and  a  wonderful  home  to  be  made 

—  somewhere?    And  the  little  stray  who  was  so  shy 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  301 

would  have  a  little  niche  in  it.  Monica  was  too  much 
absorbed  by  her  own  thoughts  to  give  special  thought 
to  anyone,  but  after  the  awakening  to  the  artistic  pos 
sibilities  of  Hettie  as  a  model,  it  was  made  easy  to 
include  her  in  the  vague  love-lit  dreams  of  the  future ; 
she  would  fit  into  any  background  without  discord,  and 
was  such  a  fragile  little  blossom  of  a  girl  that  it  gave 
one  a  feeling  of  strength  to  make  plans  for  her. 

Monica's  own  life  in  its  shock  of  joy,  and  its  glory 
in  the  days  to  be,  felt  generous  to  all  the  world,  so 
sure  now  that  there  was  a  joyous  castle  of  dreams  to 
come  true  for  everyone  if  only  a  little  help  was  given ! 

Dreaming  thus,  she  came  slowly  down  the  stairway, 
halting  at  the  window  for  a  moment  to  gaze  out  over 
the  deep  blue  of  the  sea,  not  yet  smooth,  for  the  rollers 
were  carrying  white  crests,  and  they  sounded  wicked 
as  they  crashed  thunderously  against  the  great  rocks. 

But  the  sun  had  come  out  with  a  glory  of  reflected 
lights,  and  the  autumn  leaves  on  the  low-growing  wild 
things  were  splashes  of  rich  color  against  the  line  of 
blue  water.  Over  that  sparkle  of  the  blue  he  had 
sailed  north  to  the  village,  where  the  boat  had  been 
secured  for  his  secret  search  of  her.  No  one  along 
the  shore  would  know  that  a  strange  craft  had 
anchored  thus  long  in  her  little  cove.  Even  the  fisher 
men,  seeing  it  there,  had  supposed  it  her  own,  made 
snug  and  safe  from  the  storm. 

As  she  looked  the  way  he  had  gone  she  breathed  a 
sigh  of  utter  content  and  touched  his  letters  against 


302  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

her  breast.  In  a  little  while,  a  very  little  while,  she 
would  be  held  again  in  his  arms,  she  would  hear  — 

She  went  on  down  the  stairs,  smiling.  The  tinkle 
of  china  told  her  Hettie  was  arranging  supper,  and  a 
dimple  deepened  in  her  cheek  at  the  certainty  that 
Hettie  would  conclude  a  tremendous  appetite  in  the 
mistress  of  the  home.  The  larder  she  had  stocked 
before  leaving  was  sadly  depleted. 

But  Hettie  could  never  know  that  one  cup  and  plate 
was  put  aside  from  common  use  as  a  holy  thing  of 
sacrament  —  his  cup  from  which  they  had  each  drank 
in  pledge !  All  the  world  had  been  changed  for  her  by 
that  pledge,  the  joyous,  wonderful  world! 

Through  the  window  she  saw  a  man  sauntering 
along  the  cliff,  a  stranger  who  looked  down  at  the 
white  lines  of  foam  against  the  beach  or  the  dark 
rocks.  No  doubt  people  would  begin  now  to  patrol 
the  shore  because  of  wreckage  washing  back  and  forth. 

She  gave  the  stroller  no  further  thought  until  Hettie 
came  in  hurriedly  from  the  veranda,  her  big  eyes  wide 
—  hesitating,  embarrassed,  yet  someway  afraid. 

"  It  is  a  man  —  he  was  on  the  train  — he  saw  me  — 
and  —  and  is  coming  in ! " 

"Hettie,  Hettie,"  said  Mrs.  Wayne,  smilingly,  "a 
man  saw  you  on  the  train,  and  is  actually  coming  in. 
Then,  perhaps,"  she  added,  teasingly,  "you  had 
better  let  me  ask  his  intentions." 

Hettie,  abashed  at  the  raillery,  and  with  an  uncom 
fortable  feeling  as  she  remembered  his  comment  on 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  303 

her  figure,  went  to  the  door  with  lagging  steps  and 
silent  tongue.  Even  when  she  opened  the  door  she 
only  held  it  ajar  in  a  hesitating  way,  waiting  for  the 
man  to  declare  his  business. 

But  he  only  bestowed  on  her  an  amused  glance,  and, 
placing  his  hand  against  the  door,  pushed  it  wide  open 
and  walked  past  her. 

So  quiet  had  been  his  entrance  that  he  was  stand 
ing,  smiling,  and  self-satisfied,  in  the  archway,  while 
Monica  on  the  window  seat  was  still  waiting  to  hear 
the  voice  of  the  stranger  at  the  door. 

For  a  heavy  man  he  moved  very  softly,  and  his  smile 
widened  as  he  saw  Monica  rise  to  her  feet  in  amazed 
protest  against  the  slightly  swaggering  entrance  of  a 
stranger. 

"Well,  Monica?"  he  remarked,  easily. 

She  stepped  backward,  staring  at  him  in  horror, 
while  Hettie,  following  him,  was  poised  as  for  flight. 

Mr.  Wayne  looked  from  one  to  the  other  grimly. 

"Not  an  ardent  greeting,"  he  observed.  "Run 
away,  little  girl,  and  play,"  he  added,  turning  to  Het 
tie,  who  looked  in  vain  for  a  gesture  from  Mrs. 
Wayne,  and,  seeing  none,  shrank  back  into  the  dining 
room. 

"To  put  it  mildly,  your  regard  is  not  flattering," 
he  said,  crossing  to  a  chair  and  dropping  into  it  heav 
ily.  "  One  would  think  I  had  changed  as  much  as  you, 
but  in  a  different  way." 

She  still  stood  with  that  perplexed  stare  as  at  a 


304  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

stranger.  Even  his  voice  was  changed  and  husky,  and 
came  from  a  fat  throat  in  which  there  was  not  a  line 
left  of  his  one-time  grace.  His  dark,  restless  eyes 
seemed  smaller  because  of  the  extra  flesh,  and  his 
face  was  mottled  with  the  signs  of  the  opposite  of 
simple  life.  The  small  hand  in  which  he  held  hat  and 
cigar  looked  puffy  and  strange  for  a  man  of  his  bulk. 
There  was  no  trace  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  turned 
freely  in  her  childhood.  Neither  girl  nor  child  would 
go  with  trust  to  this  man. 

uGad,  they  were  right;  you  are  a  looker  I"  he  de 
cided,  as  his  gaze  traveled  from  her  face  over  her 
figure  and  back  to  her  eyes.  "I'm  back  for  keeps, 
and  you  can  spend  my  money.  So  settle  down,  girlie, 
and  talk  it  over.  Why  the  devil  didn't  some  of  them 
write  me  long  ago  and  tell  me  what  a  beauty  you 
were?  The  foolishness  of  ever  trying  to  get  divorced 
from  you!" 

Monica  felt  herself  shrink  and  burn  under  his 
appraising  eyes. 

"  You  must  go  away,"  she  heard  herself  saying,  in  a 
low,  shocked  tone.  "  You  must  go  at  once ;  don't  look 
at  me  like  that,  you  —  you  are  insulting!" 

"Now,  now,  now,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "be  good 
and  listen.  We  don't  need  the  lawyers  for  this  —  not 
you  and  I.  You  used  to  have  a  lot  of  'savy'  for  a 
kid  —  little  fighting  wildcat  —  but  I  tell  you  I  give  in. 
You  can  have  everything  your  own  way;  make  your 
own  terms.  Why — with  your  looks  and  my  money — " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  305 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  sharply.  "Are  you  trying  to 
buy  a  woman  in  the  market-place,  and  lost  your  way?'* 

"Little  wildcat!"  he  repeated,  smilingly.  "Yes,  I 
know  I  did  not  play  a  square  game,  and  your  pride 
was  hurt,  but  I  tell  you  I  am  back  to  eat  out  of  your 
hand,  and — " 

"Ugh!"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  and  looked  at 
it.  "  I  should  hate  my  own  hand  if  you  touched  it ! " 

"Bad  as  that?"  and  his  smile  was  not  nice.  "All 
right  then,  no  hand-holding  in  the  game,  and  we  will 
settle  it  on  a  business  basis.  I  come  back,  buy  you  a 
town  and  country  house,  a  string  of  horses  —  you  used 
to  be  keen  on  horses  —  and  a  yacht;  they  tell  me  you 
are  keen  on  boating  now.  You  invite  the  guests,  your 
own  choice,  and  I  will  foot  the  bills.  You  keep  your 
own  apartments,  and  I  double  cross  my  heart  to  be  a 
respectful  guest.  How  is  that?  I  want  a  house  on 
this  side  of  the  water.  I  can't  have  it  without  a 
woman,  and  you  are  the  right  woman.  By  jove!  I 
never  even  dreamed  you  could  develop  into  what  you 
are.  I've  been  a  fool!" 

"You  are  a  greater  one  now!"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  My  lawyer  has  filed  application  for  absolute  divorce, 
and  you  will  be  free  to  give  all  your  money,  and  your 
name,  to  the  one  woman  who  has  given  the  best  years 
of  her  life  to  you." 

"  Nothing  doing ! "  he  returned,  briefly.  "  I  tell  you 
I  want  to  come  to  this  side,  and  she  can't  come  back. 
Even  her  own  folks  would  bar  her  out.  Have  some 


306  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

sense,  Monica;  a  man  can't  mend  things  a  woman 
breaks  —  even  a  wedding  ring  can't  do  it." 

"  You  brute! "  she  breathed,  in  utter  disgust.  "You 
would  make  the  woman  pay,  pay,  while  you  would 
come  back  and  buy  a  place  for  yourself  alone." 

"  Oh,  I  will  make  a  settlement  on  her,  so  you  needn't 
worry  about  the  other  woman,"  he  assured  her,  easily; 
14  also  she  has  quarreled  with  me,  and  quit.  These  are 
the  things  I  wanted  to  talk  over  without  lawyers,  and 
I  was  in  luck  to  run  up  here  with  Dacy.  He  told  me 
the  house  was  closed.  Now  be  a  wise  girl,  think  over 
the  money  you  will  need  to  run  things,  and  let  Hallet 
know.  Consult  him  about  it  first  if  you  choose ;  he  is  a 
good  deal  of  a  prude,  but  he  will  see  it  is  the  only 
way  to  settle  things.  Now  be  sensible,  and  don't  stare 
at  me  as  if  I  was  one  of  your  Mexican  lovers  you  were 
itching  to  knife." 

"I  have  listened  to  you,"  she  said,  coldly.  "Listen 
to  me,  for  I  will  never  talk  with  you  again." 

"  Oh,  yes  you  will,  Monica !  " 

"Don't  call  me  Monica!"  she  burst  out  with  a  sort 
of  fury  at  the  sound  of  her  name  on  his  lips.  "You 
fill  me  with  a  disgust  I  once  thought  I  could  never  have 
for  you !  I  thought  I  was  merely  indifferent,  as  I  used 
to  be,  but  I  find,  I  find  that  I  could  hate  you  more  than 
I  could  ever  have  hated  the  Mexicans  you  sneer  at! 
Oh,  you  beast !  to  come  like  this  for  traffic  in  the  life 
of  one  woman  after  throwing  aside  another ! " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  307 

"Easy,  easy!"  he  said,  and  his  lips  were  white. 
"  Remember,  you  are  my  wife." 

"  You  mean  you  married  me !  "  she  retorted.  "  That 
alone  does  not  make  me  a  wife.  You  make  a  bargain 
with  me  —  with  a  child  —  and  then  in  a  drunken  hour 
you  tried  to  break  it,  and  I  ran  away!  I  have  never 
told  your  family  of  that,  or  how  you  found  me  and 
promised  to  send  me  to  the  school  I  chose  if  only  I 
would  not  make  a  scandal,  and  make  you  a  laughing 
stock!  But  I  will  tell  them,  if  you  ever  come  near  me 
again.  I  fought  you  then,  and  I  '11  fight  you  now ! " 

"Not  now,"  and  he  looked  her  over  with  a  slow, 
malicious  smile.  "You  have  your  claws  clipped  now, 
my  lady.  You  had  better  be  good  and  play  ball,  for 
your  little  penny  whistle  divorce  machine  has  slipped 
a  cog — it's  all  off." 

He  was  so  slow,  so  watchful,  so  sure,  that  she  turned 
suddenly  cold  with  terror  of  the  unknown. 

"  It  is  not  true ! "  she  breathed,  watching  him  fear 
fully,  her  hand  over  the  letters  on  her  breast  as  if  to 
hold  the  writer  more  close.  The  ugly  smile  in 
Wayne's  eyes  made  her  sick.  He  was  white  with  a 
sort  of  cold  fury,  and  the  brandy  from  the  silver  flask 
aroused  in  him  possibilities  hidden  usually  under  his 
careless  indifference  to  most  things.  But  he  was  not 
indifferent  now.  She  had  stung  him  into  a  white  rage, 
and  he  watched  the  color  slip  from  her  face,  and 
smiled. 


308  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"It —  is  —  not?"  And  this  time  there  was  almost 
a  plea  in  her  broken  tone — "I  have  George  Hallet's 
letter  —  he  said — " 

"Yes,  no  doubt,"  and  he  lit  his  cigar,  threw  the 
match  in  the  fire,  and  picked  up  his  hat;  "but  when 
your  perfect  lady  of  a  lawyer  wrote  you  that  letter 
he  did  not  know  that  you  meant  to  nullify  the  divorce 
action  by  coming  to  the  shore  to  meet  your  husband." 

"Nullify?     Coming  to  meet  you!"  she  gasped. 

"Precisely;  our  presence  together  under  this  roof 
has  wiped  the  divorce  action  in  New  York  off  the 
slate." 

"No!  You  are  saying  that  to  —  to  frighten  me. 
It  is  not  true  —  or  if  it  is,  I  will  apply  again,  here  — 
in  this  state." 

"In  this  state?"  and  his  smile  grew  more  sardonic. 
"  In  this  state  you  would  have  no  grounds  for  divorce. 
I  have  repeatedly  sent  money  for  your  maintenance. 
The  fact  that  you  ignore  it  does  not  alter  the  law  in 
the  case.  In  this  state  only  my  failure  to  provide  for 
you  would  allow  you  a  divorce." 

She  seemed  to  feel  the  world  of  her  dreams  slipping 
far  into  the  shadows  as  she  leaned  white  and  tense 
against  the  table,  staring  at  his  smiling,  insolent  face. 

"  It  is  not  true !  It  is  not  true ! "  she  insisted.  "  I 
will  go  somewhere,  I  will  find  a  way,  I  will — " 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  interrupted. 
"  You  just  mentioned  that  crazy  flight  of  yours  from 
the  Los  Angeles  hotel.  I'd  forgotten  the  bad  hour 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  309 

or  two  you  gave  me.  You  have  spoiled  your  case  by 
reminding  me  of  it.  I  will  fight  any  attempt  you  make 
for  divorce,  so  you  had  better  be  good.  You  have  no 
case  on  desertion,  for  you  deserted  me  the  day  after 
our  wedding.  I  can  prove  that  if  I  want  to." 

"  But,  but,  you  promised — it  was  understood — " 

"Nonsense!  No  judge  would  believe  your  story 
that  the  marriage  was  not  a  marriage,  or  that  the 
intent  was  not  marriage.  People  don't  do  those  fool 
ish  things.  You  would  be  laughed  at,"  and  he  smiled 
down  in  her  frightened  eyes.  "  Do  you  see  now  where 
you  stand?  You  are  my  wife  and  you  are  going  to 
remain  my  wife!"  He  grasped  her  wrist  with  a 
quick,  vicious  movement,  drawing  her  face  closer  to 
his.  "  I  did  not  give  a  damn  one  way  or  the  other 
for  you  personally  in  this  matter,"  he  stated,  watch 
ing  her  with  half-closed,  devouring  eyes,  "  but  you  Ve 
changed  that.  You  are  mine,  and  I'm  going  to  have 
you !  I  was  a  fool  to  let  you  go  that  other  time,  and 
it  shan't  happen  again.  No  matter  what  the  price  I 
pay,  I  am  going  to  have  you!  Do  you  understand?" 

When  Hettie  heard  the  door  slam,  she  came  in  and 
found  that  Mrs.  Wayne  had  slipped  to  the  floor  beside 
the  window  seat.  With  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands 
she  was  gazing  northward  over  the  sea. 

The  girl  thought  at  first  that  she  was  weeping,  and 
stood,  pitiful  and  hesitating,  for  Wayne's  last  words 
had  been  loud  enough  for  her  to  hear. 

But  Monica  was  not  weeping.    Her  eyes  were  dry 


310  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

and  cold,  and  her  face  was  pale  as  she  turned  at  the 
girl's  entrance. 

"We  will  go  away  tomorrow,  Hettie,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "I  will  leave  you  with  a  dear  woman  in 
New  York  for  a  while,  and  afterwards  we  can  make 
plans;  but — I  am  going  out  of  this  world,  this  prison 
of  beastly  laws  —  tomorrow!" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Wayne !  "  began  the  girl,  in  terror  at  the 
white  face  and  the  hard,  strange  words;  but  Monica 
smiled  at  her  faintly. 

"  No,  don't  be  worried,"  she  said,  reassuringly.  "  I 
did  not  tell  you  that  I  was  near  drowning  in  the  storm 
the  day  you  left,  and  that  I  came  out  of  the  surf  into 
a  new  life  in  a  new  world.  I  will  make  that  new 
world  for  myself,  and  —  we  will  go  away  tomorrow." 

Later,  Hettie  slipped  out  to  look  over  the  cliff  for 
the  boat,  but  only  shattered  timbers  were  strewn  along 
the  shore.  She  was  filled  with  awe  at  the  thought  that 
a  woman,  alone,  had  gone  under  that  water  and  come 
out  alive,  but  in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Wayne's  silence 
dared  ask  no  questions. 

She  did,  however,  comprehend  that  the  cove  was  as 
the  very  jaws  of  death  in  a  tempest,  and  that  anyone 
going  under  those  waves  could  actually  feel  that  the 
old  life  was  lived  out  —  and  left  behind! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

'T^HE  long,  beautiful  autumn  had  merged  into  the 
•*•  season  of  furs  and  flurries  of  snow,  and  the  holi 
days  were  past,  and  Glyndon  Wayne  had  drifted  from 
Massachusetts  to  Florida  and  back  to  Manhattan, 
without  making  any  headway  as  to  establishing  himself 
on  an  American  country  estate;  and  to  his  disgust  and 
chagrin  his  own  relatives  showed  no  great  eagerness 
to  assist  him.  Even  Mrs.  Dacy,  despite  all  her  loyalty 
to  family,  found  him  an  awkward  guest. 

He  was  ignored  in  clubs,  and  Dacy,  after  hearing 
his  side  of  the  question,  made  it  clear  that,  while  his 
other  business  could  remain  in  their  office,  neither  he 
nor  Hallet  would  consider  any  proposition  towards  a 
compromise  with  Monica  —  when  they  found  her. 

For  she  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  faded  out  of  their 
world,  and  all  his  efforts  to  locate  her  failed.  He 
had  attorneys  endeavor  to  ascertain  if  she  had  estab 
lished  residence  in  California  or  Nevada  with  the  idea 
of  trying  there  for  the  divorce  he  had  spoiled  for  her 
in  New  York;  but  no  trace  of  her  was  found.  He 
could  give  them  little  to  identify  her  by  except  her 
name.  She  had  closed  her  studio.  Rosa  remained  in 
charge,  but  all  of  Wayne's  money  could  not  bribe 

3» 


312  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Rosa  to  tell  where  her  mistress  was  if  she  had  known, 
which  she  did  not. 

In  fact,  only  one  quiet,  little  girl  in  all  Manhattan 
could  have  told  them  aught  of  the  absentee;  and  Het- 
tie  felt  very  important  at  this  evidence  of  trust,  and 
periodically  went,  with  a  certain  excitement,  to  the 
studio  for  Monica's  mail,  always  veiled,  lest  she  be 
seen  by  any  of  the  Dacy  or  Wayne  connections. 

And  it  was  through  that  slender,  veiled  figure  that 
the  spies  employed  by  Wayne  secured  the  first  trace 
to  what  might  be  the  retreat  of  Monica.  Everyone 
calling  at  the  studio  was  watched  until  proven  uninter 
esting;  but  a  slender,  veiled  girl  who  never  spoke  except 
to  Rosa,  who  came  regularly,  and  who  was  followed 
each  time  to  the  home  of  a  Spanish  sisterhood  —  this 
was  the  first  item  they  could  report  to  which  any 
significance  could  be  attached. 

And  their  report  threw  Glyndon  Wayne  into  a 
perfect  fury  of  rage. 

A  convent!  a  Spanish  convent!  Of  course,  if  she 
should  go  to  any  it  would  be  a  Spanish  one.  He  had 
never  thought  of  that,  yet  the  thought,  once  suggested, 
grew  and  had  plenty  to  feed  upon,  and  he  stormed 
into  Dacy's  office  and  expressed  himself. 

"Right  here  under  your  noses !"  he  fumed.  "Of 
course,  with  that  damned  church  painting,  and  her 
Spanish,  she  would  have  a  pull  and  get  in  where  she 
thinks  no  one  dare  follow.  But  she  will  find  her 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  313 

mistake.  What  is  money  for  if  it  can't  open  gates? 
Let  me  once  be  sure  she  is  there,  and  I  '11 — " 

"Stop  and  think  it  over,"  suggested  Dacy.  "Sup 
pose  your  wife  is  there,  suppose  she  elects  to  spend 
the  rest  of  her  days  there  doing  church  decorations,  do 
you  think  you  could  find  a  lawyer  of  good  standing  to 
give  you  either  aid  or  comfort  towards  getting  her  out? 
Hallet  has  your  record,  you  know,  and  he  would  fight 
for  her  if  she  was  back  of  bars  double-locked  and  never 
to  be  opened." 

"  Hallet 's  a  fool,  and  will  die  a  pauper,"  prophesied 
Wayne,  darkly. 

"Perhaps,"  agreed  Hallet's  partner,  "but  he  would 
see  to  it  that  you  got  considerable  publicity  of  the 
wrong  sort.  Can't  you  see  that  if  that  sisterhood  is,' 
for  any  reason,  sheltering  her,  your  record  would  not 
show  up  very  well  in  the  public  press  as  an  opponent 
of  the  church?  And  there  would  be  a  very  great  deal 
of  press  work,  Wayne.  It  isn't  often  the  reporters 
get  such  rich  material.  The  things  they  would  do  to 
you  would  be  many,  and  you'd  better  go  and  talk  it 
over  with  your  Aunt  Martha." 

"Talk — hell!  I '11  go  to  that  greaser  shebang  and 
see  for  myself.  These  fools  have  wasted  weeks  and  a 
barrel  of  money,  and  the  girl  right  here  under  their 
noses ! "  Then  he  stopped  short  and  regarded  Dacy 
scowlingly.  "Are  you  dead  sure  your  own  folks,  your 
office,  has  not  known  where  she  is?" 


314  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  No,  I  can't  speak  for  anyone  but  myself,"  acknowl 
edged  Dacy.  "  I  certainly  do  not  know,  but  I  should 
not  be  at  all  surprised  if  you  are  right,  and  if  she  is 
there,  you  might  as  well  give  up;  you  will  not  dare  do 
a  thing." 

"  I  '11  dare  find  out  without  any  more  agents  in  the 
case,"  retorted  Wayne,  u  and  I  '11  do  it  now.  You  can 
come  along  if  you  want  to,"  he  added,  in  a  half- 
resentful,  half-challenging  manner. 

Dacy  hesitated  the  fraction  of  a  second,  and  then 
reached  for  his  hat. 

"  Unofficially  I  am  willing  to  be  among  those 
present,"  he  said,  amiably,  and  a  little  later  he  was 
being  whirled  uptown  in  Wayne's  car.  The  latter 
looked  a  trifle  surprised  at  his  acceptance  of  the  invita 
tion.  He  had  been  made  conscious  that  even  good- 
natured,  easy-going  Dacy  usually  had  business  which 
prevented  acceptance  of  so  small  a  courtesy  as  a  car 
ride. 

The  machine  slowed  up  before  one  of  the  old 
residences  in  a  one-time  region  of  fashion.  A  metal 
fence  enclosed  the  old  hedge  of  the  yard,  and  the  ivy 
over  the  little  metal  balcony  fluttered  its  green  leaves 
in  the  face  of  winter. 

The  silver  nameplate  on  the  door  assured  them  of 
their  destination,  but  before  Wayne  could  ring,  the 
door  was  opened  by  an  aged  nun  seated  in  a  great  chair 
in  the  hall  as  if  ever  on  guard.  She  was  very  small, 
dark,  and  entirely  Spanish,  and  she  listened  politely 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  315 

while  Wayne  made  his  statement  in  English  that  he 
would  like  the  favor  of  speech  with  the  Superior. 

"Si,  Senores"  she  said,  and  preceded  them  to  the 
reception  room,  where  she  left  them  and  rustled  along 
the  hall. 

Both  men  looked  about  the  room  with  unusual  inter 
est,  the  inlaid  floor  and  finely-carved  marble  of  the 
mantel  gave  an  air  of  old-time  magnificence  with  which 
the  black  carved  furniture  was  in  satisfying  harmony. 
Some  old  Spanish  canvases  gave  color  here  and  there 
—  A  Madonna,  with  drooping  face  and  a  wonderful 
blue  robe,  and  the  Divine  Shepherd,  with  a  white  lamb 
nestling  close  to  the  sheltering  breast.  Occasionally 
the  voices  of  women  could  be  heard  as  a  door  opened 
above,  and  each  listened,  in  the  silence  of  the  room,  for 
the  tones  of  a  voice  they  knew. 

But  they  did  not  speak  to  each  other.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  place  was  such  an  entire  change 
from  the  bustle  and  rush  and  noise  of  the  streets,  that 
it  called  for  a  certain  readjustment,  and  Dacy  leaned 
back  and  eyed  Wayne  in  silence,  wondering  grimly 
how  he  would  fit  himself  to  meet  the  situation. 

Then  there  was  heard  again  the  soft  rustle,  and  the 
aged  nun  settled  herself  in  the  throne-like  chair  in  the 
hall,  and  a  younger  woman,  with  clear  eyes  and  a 
sweet,  alert  expression,  entered,  inclining  her  head 
slightly  as  she  glanced  at  Wayne,  and  then  spoke  to 
Dacy. 

"  Sister  Aguada  speaks  no  English,"  she  said,  with  a 


316  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

gesture  towards  the  guard  in  the  hall,  "and  our 
Mother,  the  Superior,  is  not  here  to  see  you  at  this 
hour,  but  I  will  listen." 

"This  gentleman,  Mr.  Wayne,  thinks  his  wife  is 
here,  in  retreat,"  and  Dacy  stepped  back  with  a  plain 
indication  that  he  spoke  to  her  through  courtesy,  but 
that  Wayne  should  do  his  own  talking. 

'Your  wife,  Setior?"  and  her  brows  went  up  in 
amused  surprise.  "But  this  —  our  house  is  not  a 
retreat  for  wives,  not  at  all !  " 

Wayne  felt  that  she  was  laughing  at  him  despite  her 
cool  courtesy,  and  the  color  flamed  in  his  face. 

"There  is  a  girl  here,  or  a  woman,  who  leaves  this 
house,  veiled,  every  week  and  goes  to  my  wife's  studio 
on  Fifty-seventh  street.  This  has  continued  for  many 
weeks.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  girl  is  my  wife, 
and  I  want  to  see  her." 

"  How  strange,  Senor,  that  you  have  a  wife,  and  go 
to  seek  her  away  from  your  home,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  It  is  quite  true  this  is  a  shelter  for  the  homeless  girls, 
and  there  is  one  who  goes  veiled  at  times.  She  is  the 
friend,  the  protege  of  Sister  Teresa.  It  may  be  that 
Sister  Teresa  can  see  Mr.  Wayne  when  I  have  told  her 
what  you  say.  It  may  be,  but  I  do  not  know." 

And  with  a  frigid  bend  of  the  head  she  turned  away 
without  looking  at  either  of  them,  and,  speaking  a  few 
low  words  in  Spanish  to  the  nun  in  the  hall,  she  passed 
out  of  their  sight.  Dacy  glanced  at  Wayne,  who  looked 
after  her,  frowningly,  his  head  thrust  forward,  his  jaw 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  317 

set  in  an  ugly  way,  and  his  whole  attitude  indicating 
that  his  impulse  was  to  follow  and  find  what  he  came 
for. 

"Think  it  over,  and  think  it  slow,"  suggested  Dacy. 
"This  looks  like  one  place  where  you  have  to  take 
what  they  give  you  and  look  pleasant,  if  you  pan." 

Wayne  was  not  in  the  mood  for  pleasantries,  but  he 
did  straighten  up  as  the  frank,  cool  nun  returned,  fol 
lowed  by  another,  with  older  eyes,  dark  and  sad,  and  a 
strange,  intent  gaze  as  she  turned  to  Dacy,  and  then 
to  the  other  man,  who  made  a  choking  sound  in  his 
throat  and  involuntarily  stepped  back  as  if  he  had  seen 
a  ghost. 

Sister  Teresa  did  not  bend  her  head  or  salute  him 
in  any  way;  in  fact,  her  head  was  held  very  high,  and 
the  strange  look  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  come  from 
above  him  and  judge  him. 

"Ah,  the  Senor  Wayne?"  she  said  at  last.  "And 
you  come  to  seek  all  that  you  cared  not  to  guard?" 

"Dona  Carmel!"  he  muttered,  staring. 

"There  is  no  longer  any  Dona  Carmel,  and  there  is 
no  one  in  this  house  who  wishes  to  know  you,  Senor" 

"But,  Carmel,  listen,  listen  to  me!"  he  said, 
hurriedly  taking  a  step  towards  her,  and  becoming 
more  eager  as  she  moved  backward  from  him.  "  You 
don't  believe  in  divorce,  you  can't — your  religion  is 
against  it.  You  are  just  the  person  to  set  her  right. 
Why,  it  is  a  duty  you  can't  ignore,  and  you  can  have 
anything  you  want  to  ask.  Your  Order  can  have  any- 


318  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

thing  you  want  to  ask,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  younger 
nun  to  see  the  effect  of  his  words,  "  an  endowment,  a 
building,  anything!'* 

He  stopped  to  give  her  a  chance  to  speak,  but  she 
only  looked  at  him  as  if,  like  Monica,  she  was  trying 
to  trace  the  careless,  graceful  visitor  of  San  Juan  in 
the  stodgy,  dissipated  man,  whose  voice  held  no  note 
she  could  recall. 

"Why,  you  saw  us  married,"  he  went  on.  "You 
know  how  all  right  it  is;  you  could  influence  her,  make 
her  see  what  the  duty  of  a  wife  is,  and  I  '11  make  any 
settlement,  anything  you  say,  any — " 

She  lifted  her  hands  with  a  little  outward  gesture  of 
putting  away  from  her  an  unpleasant  thing. 

"All  that  I  say,  Senor  Wayne?"  she  repeated. 
u  Then  I  say  that  you  give  back  to  her  the  clean  heart 
of  the  child  you  made  promise  to  guard!  Yes,  Senor, 
I  see  you  married  with  her,  and  I  hear  that  promise; 
also  I  thought  in  that  time  that  it  was  well.  I  myself 
told  her  it  was  best  —  my  poor,  little,  alone  Querida ! 
I  am  to  blame,  too,  always,  that  I  tell  her  it  was  best, 
for  her  life  is  broke  and  her  heart  is  broke !  Yes, 
Senor,  I  dress  her  to  marry  with  you,  and  she  sends 
back  to  me  there  in  California  the  dress  your  drunk 
hands  have  tore  from  her  body  that  time  she  run  away ! 
All  this  I  know,  and  I  ask  you  what  you  can  give  to 
me,  or  to  our  Order,  to  make  me  say  again  the  word 
for  her  to  live  beside  you?  What  gift  is  there  for  her 
when  she  has  the  tired  soul  and  the  broke  heart  at 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  319 

twenty-two  years?  You  will  please  now  to  go,  Senor; 
there  is  not  anyone  in  this  home  who  belongs  with  you ! 
This  house  of  shelter,  and  many  houses  of  shelter,  are 
filled  with  such  girl  children  as  she  was  —  whose  lives 
are  broke  by  men  like  you ! " 

Dacy  and  the  younger  nun  stood  astounded,  while 
Sister  Teresa  poured  out  her  stinging  words  of  cen 
sure,  and  without  a  further  glance  at  any  of  them  she 
passed  from  the  room. 

Wayne  seemed  to  crumple  down  into  his  clothes  at 
her  arraignment;  then,  recollecting  himself,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was 
rather  a  ghastly  attempt. 

"A  lot  of  talent  wasted  under  that  habit,"  he 
observed,  cynically,  and  turned  to  the  other  nun,  who 
stood  waiting.  "  Perhaps  tomorrow  I  could  see  your 
Superior?" 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  she  said,  without  lifting  her 
eyes.  "  The  door  is  open  for  you,  Senores" 

Dacy  never  quite  knew  how  he  got  out  of  that  room 
where  the  young  nun  stood  with  averted  eyes  under 
the  picture  of  the  Shepherd,  or  how  he  passed  the 
aged  nun  who  held  the  door  open  in  silence.  But  he 
found  himself  outside  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  his  face 
convulsed,  and  his  hands  clenching  with  the  murderous 
anger  of  a  good-natured,  seldom-aroused  man. 

"You,  you ,"  he  said,  glaring  at  Wayne,  but 

words  failed  him. 
"Oh,  you  are  an  easy  gallery  to  play  to,"   and 


320  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Wayne  tried  to  assume  a  contemptuous  superiority  as 
he  buttoned  his  coat  and  nodded  his  head  over  his 
shoulder  towards  the  door.  "Why,  I  could  tell  you 
things  about  that  woman,  Dona  Carmelita — " 

"  Go  down  those  steps ! "  ordered  Dacy,  with  tears 
of  pure  rage  and  humiliation  fairly  choking  him. 

"Why,  say,  old  man — " 

"And  go  alone,  damn  you !  " 

Wayne  gave  him  one  look,  frowning,  incredulous, 
and  then  walked  down  the  steps.  He  looked  harried, 
beaten,  and  disgusted  as  he  dropped  into  the  car  and 
gave  the  curt  order,  "  Hotel." 

Dacy  stood,  the  tears  unheeded  on  his  cheeks, 
though  one  or  two  passers-by  looked  at  him  curiously. 
He  wanted  to  go  back  and  speak  to  those  wonderful 
women,  but  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  go  about  it.  That 
locked  door,  with  its  watchful  guardian  back  of  it, 
would  not  be  easily  passed  again  by  him,  and  after 
Wayne's  car  had  turned  the  corner  he  went  slowly 
down  the  steps  and  home  to  Martha. 

He  knew  he  had  turned  out  of  their  office  their 
wealthiest  client,  and  that  in  a  business  way  he  had 
made  a  bad  day  of  it;  also  it  would  be  difficult  to 
convey  to  anyone  the  influence  he  had  acted  under. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  would  even  try.  He 
wanted  to  forget  it. 

But  the  thought  of  Monica,  with  her  six  years  of 
silence  and  her  bravery,  came  up  before  him  as  a  vision, 
and  struck  at  his  heart.  Her  strange  smile  as  she  had 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  321 

listened  to  all  their  endeavors  at  reconciliation,  her 
shocked  protest  at  the  thought  of  little  Lulu,  all  that 
the  words  of  Sister  Teresa  had  suggested  —  the 
bruised,  silent,  lonely  life,  and  "the  broke  heart  at 
twenty-two  of  my  poor,  little,  alone  Querida ! " 

He  felt  as  when,  a  chubby  little  boy,  the  big  world 
had  brought  some  hurt  to  him,  and  he  had  wanted  to 
go  away  alone  to  cry  over  it.  He  could  never  even 
tell  Monica  what  he  knew  or  how  he  felt.  Monica  — 
who  had  listened  to  their  lectures  and  smiled  at  them, 
smiled  down  upon  them  as  upon  sheltered  children! 
Monica,  whom  they  had  deemed  ungirlish  and  cold, 
cold  —  when  her  life,  for  very  shame,  had  been  of 
forced  restraint  and  silence  —  what  blind  fools  she 
must  have  thought  them! 

And  when  a  few  days  later  all  the  Glyndon  Wayne 
business  was  transferred  from  their  office  to  a  rival 
firm,  Dacy  could  not  feel  properly  regretful  for  even 
the  business  loss. 

He  wrote  a  little  letter  to  Monica  in  care  of  Sister 
Teresa,  and  enclosed  in  it  a  newspaper  clipping  con 
cerning  an  outgoing  steamer.  Glyndon  Wayne's  name 
was  among  the  passengers  sailing  for  Italy. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

one  day  Rosa  was  able  to  tell  him  that 
"Miss  Mona"  was  coming  home  —  letters  were 
to  be  held  for  her;  but  beyond  that  no  one  was  told 
anything,  and  there  were  many  curious  minds. 

Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  who  had  gained  entrance  to  a 
coveted  social  circle  by  the  "dog  route" — strength 
ened  and  bulwarked  by  certain  clubs  at  which  Nell 
Mitford  had  laughed,  came  back  from  Washington, 
where  Lulu  had  been  taken  on  the  arrival  of  Glyndon 
Wayne  in  New  York. 

She  had  decided  that  he  was  frightfully  unpopular, 
and  that  her  own  success  depended  on  not  knowing 
him  —  in  America. 

Of  course,  if  affairs  on  this  side  should  not  turn  out 
well  — 

So  Lulu,  glowing  with  joy  over  the  return,  was  the 
very  first  to  run  in  with  a  welcome  for  Monica,  follow 
ing  the  expressman  with  a  hamper,  and  Lulu  receipted 
for  it  at  Rosa's  request,  rather  than  disturb  her 
mistress. 

"Aren't  you  awfully  glad  your  Miss  Mona  is 
home?"  she  asked,  gleefully.  "We  are  all  within 
reach  of  each  other  again.  Mrs.  Tony  Allen  is  just 
back  from  her  elopement  trip !  " 

3=2 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  323 

"By  her  ownself?"  queried  Maum  Rosa,  pointedly, 
and  Lulu  giggled. 

"No;  they  are  still  living  together,  after  three 
whole  months  of  matrimony!  All  the  folks  will  be  in 
today.  Where  is  Nell's  portrait?  Let  me  put  it  on 
the  easel  so  it  will  look  just  as  it  did  when  she  stepped 
off  the  model  stand  to  run  away." 

Rosa  humored  her  whim,  and  found  the  canvas, 
while  Lulu  sat  on  the  willow  trunk  and  noticed  the 
labels,  old  and  new,  pasted  over  it. 

"Where  is  Pine  Level,  Alabama,  Rosa?"  she  asked, 
noting  the  latest. 

"Pine  Level?  Why,  Pine  Level  is  where  the  boat 
from  Miss  Mona's  place  lands  at  the  first  railroad, 
fifteen  miles  away." 

"Fifteen  miles  from  a  railroad!  No  wonder  she 
calls  it  'The  Hermitage.'  So  that's  where  she  has 
been?" 

Rosa  did  not  reply,  but  stared  at  the  trunk  doubtfully 
as  she  selected  the  key  for  it. 

"Where  you  see  Pine  Level  on  that?"  she  finally 
asked. 

"There;  can't  you  read  it?"  asked  Lulu,  with  no 
thought  of  possible  educational  lapses  in  the  Georgia 
pines. 

"  Urn''  grunted  Maum  Rosa,  noncommittally.  "  I 
never  could  read  printin'  very  good,  but  that  tab  maybe 
a  year  old?" 

"No,  only  three  days.    Can't  you  read  figures?" 


324  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Rosa,  unfastening  the  hasp. 

Lulu  fidgeted  from  one  window  to  the  other, 
impatiently. 

"Is  Mrs.  Wayne  sleeping?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"She's  lying  down.  I  reckon,  Miss  Lulu,  you'd 
better  call  in  later.  You  may  have  quite  a  wait." 

"I  —  I  would,"  returned  Lulu,  still  peering  down 
into  the  street,  "  but  I  asked  Mr.  Dacy  to  meet  me  here, 
Mr.  Joe,  and — " 

A  ring  at  the  bell  interrupted  her,  and  she  ran  to 
the  hall  ahead  of  Rosa  and  opened  the  door. 

"Oh,  Joe!"  she  whispered,  "did  you  get  the  new 
position?  " 

"  Sure  thing,"  said  that  laconic  gentleman,  twiddling 
his  hat,  and  smiling  at  her  in  ardent  unexpressed 
devotion. 

"Joe!     How  much  a  year?" 

Joe  held  up  six  fingers  and  kept  on  smiling. 

"Does  that  mean  six  dollars,"  she  demanded,  "or 
fifteen  hundred?" 

"  Fifteen  a  week,  and  promise  of  a  raise." 

"Oh,  Joe,  isn't  it  lovely?" 

"It's  all  right  if  the  raise  is  big  enough,  and  comes 
soon  enough!" 

Lulu  refused  to  consider  any  possibility  but  a 
wonderful  raise  as  soon  as  the  firm  had  time  really  to 
grasp  the  great  value  of  Joe,  and,  of  course,  that  meant 
an  early  date;  and  Joe  smiled  at  the  radiant  hopes  of 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  325 

her,  and  got  as  much  joy  out  of  it  as  if  he  already  had 
the  extra  pay  envelope. 

"  Monica  is  resting  and  we  can't  see  her  now.  Let's 
go  somewhere  and  talk,"  she  suggested.  But  Joe 
looked  at  his  watch  and  shook  his  head. 

"Not  this  day,  office  hours  in  ten  minutes,  forty 
blocks  away — so  long!"  and  the  tall  boy  shook  her 
hand  and  fairly  ran  for  the  elevator.  To  be  the  small 
est  cog  in  a  wheel  of  big  machinery  was  filling  Joe 
with  the  responsibilities  of  life. 

Lulu  breathed  an  impatient  sigh.  It  was  horrid 
not  to  be  able  to  earn  money  and  enjoy  oneself  at  the 
same  time.  But  the  sight  of  Monica  coming  through 
the  music  room,  almost  made  her  forget  her 
disappointment  as  she  rushed  into  her  arms. 

uOh,  Monica  dear!    I'm  the  first  to  say  ' welcome 

home."1 

Monica  greeted  her  and  took  up  the  little  tray  of 
accumulated  mail,  glancing  over  the  envelopes  and 
opening  a  few. 

"I  hear  you  also  have  been  out  of  town,"   she 

observed. 

"  In  Washington,"  assented  Lulu,  with  a  little  clasp 
of  the  hands,  expressive  of  delight.  " Lovely!  Mr. 
Sargent  came  there  last  week.  How  he  was  lionized! 
Do  you  know  his  Twilight  Woman  has  been  translated 
already  into  —  I  forget  how  many  languages.  Span 
ish  and  German  I'm  sure  of.  Oh,  I've  lots  of  news. 
Nell  is  back,  and  Tony;  and  Gillie  has  a  new  note- 


326  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

book — all  about  me.  Joe  is  working  like  a  slave  — 
fifteen  dollars  a  week!  That  doesn't  seem  big  to 
some  folks,  but  I  'd  marry  him  on  that  tomorrow,  only 
mama  would  do  all  the  law  would  let  her  —  and  laws 
are  awful  things !  " 

"  Little  Anarchist ! "  said  Monica,  teasingly,  and 
then,  suddenly  grave,  she  added,  uLulu,  wait!  It  is 
not  so  long  until  you  will  be  of  legal  age." 

"  Wait  nearly  two  years !  "  protested  Lulu,  dolefully. 
"It's  easy  to  see  you  never  were  in  love.  You  are  as 
bad  —  I  mean  as  sensible  —  as  Mr.  Sargent." 

"To  be  as  sensible  as  your  Mr.  Sargent  is  high 
praise,"  agreed  Monica,  with  the  little  mocking  smile 
which  Lulu  found  adorable,  though  she  did  not  always 
understand  it.  "What  particular  brand  of  wisdom 
has  he  expressed  lately?" 

"  Oh,  we  got  off  by  ourselves  at  a  tea  last  week,  and 
I  told  him  all  about  Joe,  and  —  and  mama!"  she 
added,  viciously,  "  and  he  gave  me  a  lot  of  good 
advice  —  talked  to  me  like  a  grandfather." 

Monica  absently  sorted  some  of  the  mail,  and  opened 
a  note  from  Hettie  stating  that  she  was  coming  at  once 
with  Sister  Teresa.  Then  she  looked  up  from  the 
written  page  to  ask,  "What  did  he  advise,  Lulu?" 

"  Told  me  to  wait,"  confessed  Lulu,  with  an  injured 
air,  "unless  I  wanted  unhappiness  for  myself  and 
remorse  for  Joe.  Told  me  I  was  too  young  to  under 
stand  all  the  reasons,  but  that  I  must  not  meet  Joe 
secretly  as  I  have  been  doing.  Oh,  he  had  me  crying 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  327 

before  he  got  through.  He  said  secrecy  was  not 
always  romantic,  and  sometimes  it  was  demoralizing." 

"What  a  curious  statement  from  a  novelist," 
observed  Monica.  "I  thought  secrecy  was  part  of 
their  stock  in  trade." 

And  Lulu  wished  she  could  say  something  to  make 
Monica  like  Mr.  Sargent  better,  yet  did  not  dare 
express  herself,  as  she  was  rather  in  awe  of  both  of 
them. 

Rosa  came  in  with  a  special  delivery  letter,  and  Lulu 
took  her  departure,  after  a  warning  of  the  stampede 
there  would  be  when  the  word  went  out  that  the  studio 
door  was  actually  open. 

Monica  walked  to  the  window  to  open  the  letter, 
and  her  eyes  softened  at  an  intimate  term  of  endear 
ment,  and  the  eager  restlessness  of  the  writer  to  be 
near  her  again. 

"  ...  It  will  be  very  soon  —  as  soon  as  I  dare. 
We  each  have  so  many  things  to  consider  —  and  peo 
ple.  My  sister  is  here  in  Washington,  and  that  has 
detained  me  a  few  days.  Her  husband  has  been 
appointed  Consul  to  an  oriental  post  and  our  mother 
is  going  with  her  for  a  year.  I  hope  you  will  consult 
Hallet  the  earliest  possible  hour  concerning  the 
divorce.  It  can  certainly  be  arranged  now  without  fur 
ther  interference.  Your  letter  has  a  sad  tone  I  do 
not  understand.  Has  even  this  brief  separation  made 
you  morbid?  Please  cheer  up,  and  keep  a  light  in  the 
window  for  me !  Don't  be  surprised  to  have  me  ring 


328  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

you  up  at  any  hour.  And  what  is  the  unwritten  thing 
you  have  to  tell  me?  I  am  counting  the  hours  until  I 
can  be  with  you.  Are  you  ?  " 

Rosa,  having  removed  some  of  the  heavier  things 
from  the  willow  trunk,  was  about  to  move  it,  but  hesi 
tated,  and  made  many  trips  to  and  from  the  clothes 
closets,  her  fond,  questioning  eyes  on  her  mistress  at 
every  turn.  That  letter  seemed  of  vast  importance, 
for  Monica  was  too  abstracted  to  note  anything  about 
her,  until  Rosa,  with  a  disappointed  sigh,  picked  up  the 
trunk  and  attracted  her  attention. 

"  Maum  Rosa,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I  do  not 
think  —  that  is  —  you  need  not  send  that  trunk  to  the 
storeroom;  I  may  need  it." 

"  Now,  Miss  Mona ! "  sighed  Rosa,  in  an  aggrieved 
way,  "you  ain't  a-goin'  away  again,  is  you?" 

"I  —  may,"  acknowledged  Monica. 

"  An'  jest  got  back  ?  I  reckon  I  go  along  next  time ?  " 
she  added,  hopefully. 

"  I  can't  quite  say;  it  will  take  time  to  arrange,"  and 
Monica  turned  away  her  head  rather  than  see  the 
anxious,  strained  look  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  woman. 

44 Miss  Mona,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  "why  you  put 
me  aside  like  an  ole  wore  out  ox?  You  ain't  tellin'  me 
you  been  down  at  the  old  homestead  —  an'  it's  marked 
on  this  here  trunk!  How  you  make  out  to  live  there 
'thout  me  along?  Five  miles  to  a  town,  two  miles  to  a 
neighbor  house,  no  white  folks  of  quality  anywhere 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  329 

around!  Miss  Mona,  why  couldn't  I  go  'long  to  look 
after  you?" 

"I  —  was  not  there  but  a  little  while,"  said  Monica, 
evasively.  "  I  did  miss  you  very  much." 

"Well,  that's  something,"  conceded  Rosa,  wiping 
her  eyes  with  her  apron,  "but  'tain't  all.  You're 
troubled  in  your  mind  a  heap,  Miss  Mona,  an'  that 
jest  worries  me.  I  heered  you  a-walkin'  that  floor 
nigh  all  night  long.  I  —  I  reckon  it's  all  along  o' 
that  married  business?"  she  added,  wistfully. 

"Suppose  I  should  tell  you  some  day  that  I  was 
going  to  be  really  married?"  and  Monica  tried  to 
smile  lightly  at  the  thought  and,  making  a  failure  of  it, 
turned  suddenly  grave,  uor  —  that  I  am  married?" 

Maum  Rosa's  eyes  were  round  with  wonder. 

"Again?  Miss  Mona!" 

"No!"  burst  out  Monica,  vehemently,. as  she  arose 
hastily  and  began  pacing  the  floor  in  a  fever  of  nervous 
ness;  "the  only  marriage!  Don't  remind  me  of  that 
other  horror. 

"  But,  Miss  Mona,  how  you  ever  get  married  if  you 
don't  recollect  it  long  enough  to  get  unmarried  first? 
They  all  pestered  you  to  divorce  him,  an'  you 
would  n't." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know,  I  didn't  know!"  breathed 
Monica,  regretfully.  "I  thought  I  was  right,  and  —  I 
was  sorry  for  the  woman  who  could  love  him !  If 
only  he  would  have  promised,  oh  —  don't  make  me 
think  of  that  mistake,  that  awful  mistake !  " 


330  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Then  she  sank  into  a  chair  and  regarded  Rosa,  who 
sighed  ponderously  and  shook  her  head  in  sympathy 
with  her  Miss  Mona's  regret. 

"But,  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  went  away,  Maum 
Rosa,"  she  said  at  last,  "perhaps  time  even  to  be 
divorced  and  married  again.  And  suppose,  only  sup 
pose  it  could  be  arranged  like  that,  and  —  and  that  I 
would  not  want  people  to  know  for  a  whole,  a  little 
while?" 

She  strove  to  speak  lightly,  smilingly,  but  the 
embarrassment  and  the  eagerness  showed  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  could  not  meet  the  wondering,  disapproving 
gaze  of  the  old  nurse. 

u  I  reckon  Mr.  Hallet  is  smart  enough  to  fix  it  up 
that-a-way  unbeknownst  in  the  court  house,"  ventured 
the  old  woman,  dubiously;  "but  he — -why,  he's  too 
fine  a  gentleman  for  that,  Miss  Mona,  an1  a  heap  too 
proud  o'  you ! " 

She  was  puzzling  this  worrisome  problem  out  so 
earnestly  in  her  own  mind  that  she  did  not  note  the 
quick  flash  of  anger  in  the  eyes  of  her  mistress,  and 
she  continued,  conscientiously,  "Yes,  Miss  Mona,  he 
knows  that  gentlemen  don't  marry  with  ladies  that- 
a-way.  Some  of  them  —  well,  some  of  them  —  make  a 
heap  of  trouble  for  they  family  by  marrien'  folks  that 
way,  but  they  don't  marry  ladies." 

"  Maum  Rosa ! "  cried  Monica,  sharply,  and  the 
devoted  old  creature  was  startled  by  the  reproof  in 
her  tone,  the  black  hands  clasped  and  unclasped 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  331 

nervously,  and  she  peered  at  her  mistress  in  a  half- 
frightened  way. 

"Miss  Mona!"  she  whispered,  appealingly,  and  at 
the  sight  of  the  hurt  she  had  given,  Monica  patted 
her  shoulder  kindly. 

"Never  mind,  dear  old  Maum  Rosa,"  she  said, 
soothingly,  "I  am  tired,  I  guess,  and  —  and  nervous. 
But  perhaps  I  will  sleep  tonight,"  she  added,  hopefully, 
"  and  feel  better." 

She  went  through  the  music  room,  and  Rosa,  watch 
ing  her  disappear  in  her  own  bedroom,  went  about  her 
work  with  troubled  sighs  and  doleful  head  shakings. 
She  could  not  see  what  she  had  done  to  arouse  that 
flash  of  quick  anger  in  her  Miss  Mona's  eyes. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  many  times,  but  to  all  Rosa 
had  to  give  the  same  reply  —  Mistress  Wayne  was 
resting  and  could  not  be  disturbed.  Flowers  came 
from  Mrs.  Allen,  who  stated  that  she  was  coming  the 
next  day,  rain  or  shine,  and  there  was  a  box  of  fragrant 
violets  from  Hamilton  Dacy. 

Rosa  arranged  these  in  water,  and  gave  a  good  deal 
of  special  attention  to  a  box  of  white  roses  with  which 
no  card  came. 

"  Same  sort  that  came  yesterday,  an'  day  before,  an' 
day  before  that!"  she  muttered.  " Someone  certainly 
did  want  them  here  to  give  her  welcome  home.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  Mr.  Hallet?" 

But  later  in  the  day  Mr.  Hallet  sent  up  cheery  pink 
roses  with  his  card  and  a  kindly  message,  and  Rosa 


332  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

knew  that  the  white  blossoms  were  the  gift  of  someone 
else. 

Her  perplexities  were  many,  and  accustomed  though 
she  was  to  diverse  types  of  models,  she  was  more  than 
usually  puzzled  when  Monica  made  an  exception  of 
one  caller,  and  talked  for  a  long  time  with  a  nun  whom 
she  called  Dona  Carmelita,  though  Hettie  Craig,  who 
accompanied  her,  and  waited  for  her  in  the  dining 
room,  spoke  of  her  with  admiring  awe  as  "  Sister 
Teresa. " 

Why  Miss  Mona  wanted  the  nun  when  she  was  not 
painting,  was  more  than  Rosa  could  understand,  and 
she  felt  almost  an  aggrieved  jealousy  against  the  soft- 
voiced  foreign  woman  who  caressed  her  mistress  with 
tender  words,  and  touch,  and  look,  as  Rosa  had  never 
seen  anyone  do.  And  when  she  took  in  tea,  Monica 
was  seated  on  a  low  hassock,  with  her  head  on  the 
knees  of  Sister  Teresa,  while  they  talked  on  and 
on  in  the  Spanish  to  which  Rosa  could  never  get 
accustomed. 

"  Rosa,"  said  Monica,  smiling  a  bit  at  the  wonder 
of  the  old  nurse,  "between  the  time  when  you  took 
care  of  me  as  a  baby,  and  the  time  I  went  back  to  you 
married,  this  lady  was  my  nurse,  and  mother,  and 
friend.  I  want  her  to  see  you  and  know  I  am  not  all 
alone." 

Rosa  made  her  best  curtsey,  but  Sister  Teresa  put 
out  her  hand. 

"Love  her  and  keep  her  safe,  Rosita,"  she  said,  in 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  333 

her  pretty  accented  English.  "  It  is  not  the  little 
children  needing  always  the  most  care." 

"Yes'm,  that's  a  true  word,  too ! "  agreed  Maum 
Rosa,  amazed,  and  flattered  by  such  consideration,  and 
relieved  to  learn  that  this  visible  affection  had  a  solid 
foundation  in  the  western  years.  "I  —  I  never  heard 
tell  that  Miss  Mona  had  a  nun  lady  for  a  nurse,  but 
since  it's  that  way,  and  you  done  found  her  again,  I 
hope  an'  pray  you  can  talk  her  into  gettin'  foot 
loose  from  that  marriage  business,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon  for  sayin'  it,  too." 

"Yes,  Rosa,  she  knows,  and  she  will  talk  to  me  of 
it,"  said  Monica.  "  Give  Hettie  tea  in  the  dining  room, 
and  find  some  sewing  for  her  to  take  home." 

Maum  Rosa  promised,  and  left  the  room  very  much 
cheered  concerning  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Dacy  was  too 
prejudiced  for  her  advice  to  be  worth  much  in  the 
eyes  of  Rosa,  and  Nell  was  too  flighty,  but  this  woman 
of  charm,  who  carried  with  her  the  atmosphere  of  a 
different  world,  filled  her  suddenly  with  confidence. 
Surely  now  Miss  Mona  had  a  woman  friend  to  whom 
she  would  give  heed ! 

And  she  went  out  to  serve  Hettie,  and  learn  all  the 
wonderful  things  done  in  a  wonderful  way  by  Sister 
Teresa  and  her  companions. 

And  in  the  studio  Sister  Teresa  stroked  the  hair  of 
Monica  and  murmured: 

"  Pray,  Querida,  and  choose  the  right  dream  for 
your  life,  and  in  the  end  all  comes  to  you!  Many 


334  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

wait  too  long  for  the  right  dream,  and  all  comes  — 
very  late,  and  only  faith  and  prayer  helps.  But  to  a 
woman  the  faith  and  the  prayer  must  come,  cr  all  life 
is  made  bitter.  Believe  this  from  me  before  you  learn 
it  in  a  more  sorrowful  way." 

Monica  Wayne,  knowing  the  story  of  Dona  Carmel, 
felt  the  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  listened;  for  all  the 
prayers  had  not  saved  Dona  Carmel  from  the  way  of 
sorrow  —  yet  she  w?s  so  good,  so  good! 

"  But  after  one  chooses  the  dream,  what  then,  Dona 
Carmelita?"  she  asked,  with  averted  face.  "I  chose 
the  wrong  dream  that  morning  in  San  Juan,  and  how 
could  I  know?  And  the  right  dream  was  almost  in 
touch  of  my  hand  there,  and  I  —  how  could  I  know 
that,  either?"  she  added,  bitterly. 

"Only  the  angels  know,"  acknowledged  Sister 
Teresa,  uand  I  think  they  look  on  us  often  and  are 
sorry;"  and  then  she  added,  "You  will  perhaps  tell  to 
me  that  good  drearn  of  San  Juan,  Querida  mine?" 

But  Monica  shook  her  head. 

"  It  was  only  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  and  I  did  not 
know  that  some  day  it  could  have  been  my  own,"  she 
answered,  sadly,  and  Sister  Teresa,  stroking  her  hair, 
asked  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TIT  HATE  VER  Hamilton  Dacy  had  said  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family  concerning  the  disappear 
ance  of  Monica  from  their  midst,  it  proved  effective, 
and  when  the  Tony  Aliens  called  to  take  her  out  for  a 
spin  in  a  new  car  there  was  no  reference  made  to  the 
fact  of  her  absence.  Dacy  thought  he  knew  where 
she  had  been,  and  approved  of  it,  and  for  once  he  had 
asserted  himself  to  some  purpose. 

Nell  looked  radiant,  and  regarded  with  distinct 
approval  the  white  and  gray  of  Monica's  hood  and 
cloak.  She  never  could  recall  seeing  Monica  in  the 
newest  cuts  and  colors,  yet  had  never  been  conscious 
of  any  lack  of  harmonies.  She  looked  right  some  way, 
though  she  might  choose  to  wear  a  Charles  the  First 
gown  when  everyone  else  was  wearing  hobble  skirts 
or  imitation  Empire.  Nell  wondered  how  she  did  it, 
yet  appear  always  unconscious  of  dress. 

"Aunt  Martha  and  Fannie  are  coming  in  to  see 
you  this  afternoon,"  she  stated,  "but  I  was  determined 
to  get  you  for  a  little  run  and  lunch  somewhere  up 
country,  so  you  could  give  us  our  honeymoon  lecture 
without  much  of  an  audience."  Then  to  her  husband, 
"  She  told  me,  Tony,  you  were  too  good  for  me ! " 

335 


336  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Why,  oh,  why,  did  you  not  tell  me  that?"  sighed 
the  happy  man,  assuming  a  lugubrious  expression. 

"Too  hopeless  a  case!"  retorted  Monica. 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  seen  Lane  since  we  left?" 
queried  Nell.  "No  one  seems  to  have  seen  him  but 
Fannie,  and  I  get  cold  chills  when  I  think  of  what  we 
did  to  him,  and  that  we  have  him  yet  to  meet! " 

"  Oo-o !  "  shivered  Tony. 

"  Never  mind,  little  boy;  I  '11  protect  you !  " 

"Thank  you,  darling!"  breathed  her  husband. 

"And  that  portrait,"  continued  Nell.  "  Of  course, 
Lane  ordered  it,  but  we  want  it,  and  he  should  make' 
us  go  down  on  our  knees  for  it.  I  wonder  if  he  will?  " 

"  And  I  have  a  little  wonder  of  my  own,"  observed 
Monica.  "  There  was  to  be  a  companion  portrait  of 
Mr.  Sargent.  I  am  wondering  if  I  lose  that  order 
now?" 

"No  —  paint  it,  get  your  money!"  advised  Nell, 
with  decision.  "  It  will  be  ready  for  his  next  girl." 

"  From  the  way  Mrs.  Fan  is  raving  over  him,"  said 
Tony,  sagely,  "  she  evidently  would  not  mind  being 
next." 

"Oh,  she  always  raves  over  any  celebrity  she 
chances  to  know,"  scoffed  Nell.  "Wants  everyone  to 
know  the  importance  of  her  dearest  friends." 

"  Malice  in  that  remark,"  was  Tony's  comment, 
"  also  jealousy,  because  you  are  out  of  the  running  for 
that  particular  celebrity.  Here  is  our  little  lunch 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  337 

place,  and  you  can  forget  your  loss  in  something  to 
eat!" 

They  returned  to  the  studio  a  couple  of  hours  later, 
Monica  going  at  once  to  the  telephone  to  ask  if  there 
had  been  any  calls.  When  told  that  Mr.  Sargent  had 
called  up  twice,  she  was  conscious  of  a  wave  of  sick 
ness  sweeping  over  her  in  her  utter  disappointment. 
Twice!  and  she  had  been  simply  killing  time  by  silly 
chatter  and  silly  eating  with  two  happy  people,  who 
needed  no  one.  Twice!  and  she  did  not  know  where 
to  find  him,  and — 

"He  left  a  message  that  he  would  call  about  five 
on  the  chance  of  finding  you,"  added  the  operator. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  " 

"  Monica  that  little  run  in  the  open  has  given  you 
color,"  observed  Nell,  who  was  removing  her  veil  and 
regarding  her  picture,  still  on  the  easel  where  Lulu 
had  placed  it.  "  Has  Aunt  Martha  been  here?  Well, 
she  will  be.  Fannie  has  her  in  tow  for  some  canine 
pet  function.  Did  you  ever  think  Aunt  Martha  would 
come  to  that?  Of  course,  she  may  come  to  worse  if 
she  trails  with  Fannie." 

"And  Mrs.  Fan  is  helping  locate  stock  already  for 
that  old  plantation  of  Oilman's^  in  order  to  be  good 
and  ready  when  he  gets  it,"  said  Tony,  informingly, 
to  Monica.  "We  met  them  at  dinner  last  night,  and 
the  things  the  lady  knows  about  the  proper  caper  in 
dogs  —  wow!" 


338  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  Oh,  well/'  reminded  his  wife,  "  it  gets  her  in  with 
the  sort  of  people  who  own  that  sort  of  dogs  —  and 
there  you  are!  It  looks  piffling  to  me,  but  it  really 
isn't  if  it  builds  the  ladder  she  wants.  Gillie  has  asked 
us  all  down  to  that  old  place  for  a  housewarming  soon 
as  the  case  is  settled.  Me  for  the  horses  there  instead 
of  the  kyoodles." 

Monica  was  moving  about  restlessly  while  they 
chattered  and  told  her  the  things  they  deemed  of  inter 
est.  At  Nell's  mention  of  the  color  given  her  by  the 
ride,  she  had  glanced  in  a  mirror,  and  then  added  to 
her  corsage  the  white  buds  of  roses  received  that 
morning.  Then  she  criticised  the  dressing  of  Mrs. 
Allen's  hair  in  an  ultra  mode,  and  told  her  she  must 
change  it  if  the  portrait  was  ever  finished.  She  was 
eager  to  have  them  go,  to  be  alone,  yet  nervously  keep 
ing  up  discussion  of  trifling  things,  while  she  watched 
the  clock,  and  wished  she  had  opened  the  door  to  all 
the  others  the  day  before ! 

And  when  she  heard  Rosa  going  to  the  door  —  she 
turned  warningly  to  the  two, 

"This  is  the  time  to  seek  shelter  if  you  fear  to  meet 
the  man  you  ran  away  from,"  she  observed. 

"Lane?' '  and  Nell's  voice  was  almost  tragic  in  her 
surprise.  "  Oh,  Tony,  hide  me !  " 

She  clutched  Tony  by  the  arm  and  fairly  dragged 
him  behind  a  tall  screen  —  a  trifle  to  the  dismay  of 
their  hostess  —  she  had  not  anticipated  that  her  teas- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  339 

ing  suggestion  would  be  taken  literally  —  and  it  left 
her  for  a  moment  embarrassed.  Then  she  turned  to 
meet  the  newcomer,  with  her  finger  to  her  lips, 
warningly. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Sargent,"  she  said,  with  a  polite  show  of 
interest;  "it  is  nice  of  you  to  hunt  up  my  workshop 
again." 

"  Not  so  nice  as  it  is  of  you  to  open  the  door  to  us 
after  the  eternity  of  your  absence !  " 

"  If  eternity  lasts  no  longer  and  flies  so  swiftly  all 
our  guide  books  will  need  to  be  revised,"  she  remarked, 
lightly,  though  she  was  flushing  and  tremulous  under 
his  devouring  gaze.  "  I  had  some  friends  here  who 
were  anxious  to  meet  you,"  she  added,  as  she  turned 
to  the  screen,  "but  their  extreme  shyness — " 

She  folded  the  screen  back,  and  to  her  own  surprise 
found  Nell  and  Tony,  kneeling  with  heads  bent,  and 
hands  clasped  prayerfully.  Sargent  regarded  them 
with  quiet  amusement. 

"Yes,  I  have  a  recollection  of  their  extreme  shy 
ness,"  he  observed,  "on  a  wedding  date.  They  were 
shy  about  three  thousand  miles."  He  extended  his 
hands  over  them  in  mock  solemnity.  "  Bless  you,  my 
children,  bless  you !  " 

"Oh,  Lane,  you  are  good  as  golc*  '  was  Nell's 
tribute,  as  she  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  seized  his 
one  hand,  while  Tony  held  the  other. 

"You  know  I  warned  you  I  would  take  her  if  she 
said  so." 


34°  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  So  you  did,"  agreed  Sargent.  "  I  forgot  all  about 
that  until  ten  days  ago  —  had  no  time  before." 

Monica  Wayne  smiled  at  him,  mockingly. 

"Were  your  duties  as  a  lion  in  Washington  too 
arduous?"  she  inquired,  and  he  glanced  at  her, 
quizzically,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Lane,"  volunteered  Mrs.  Tony,  warningly, 
"  remember  that  you  are  no  longer  *  cousin-to-be '  to 
an  artist!  Do  you  still  find  it  necessary  to  come  and 
be  snubbed?" 

He  regarded  her  blandly,  quite  aware  that  she  was 
more  than  a  little  curious. 

"  If  I  am  willing  to  risk  any  amount  of  snubbings 
for  the  precious  privilege  of  meditating  before  a  cer 
tain  unfinished  portrait" — but  the  laughter  of  the 
others  interrupted  him. 

"  All  very  fine,"  commented  Nell.  u  If  you  had  been 
so  impressive  in  days  past  I  might  not  have  asked 
Tony — the  second  time  —  to  marry  me." 

"  Don't  reach  for  all  the  honors,"  suggested  Tony. 
"  I  asked  the  first  time." 

"We  were  wondering,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wayne, 
casually,  "  whether  I  was  still  to  get  the  order  for  the 
other  picture  —  your  portrait?" 

"  Certainly,  Lane ;  have  it  painted  before  you  find 
your  next  girl,  the  ideal  woman.  Gillie  will  tell  you 
modern  love  never  lasts  long  enough  to  paint  a  pair  of 
lovers  —  while  in  love.  The  camera  is  the  only  thing 
quick  enough  to  catch  them." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  341 

"Nice,  hopeful  outlook  for  me"  grumbled  Tony, 
"with  a  'till  death  do  us  part'  contract  on  my  hands." 

"Oh,  women  are  constant,  naturally,"  announced 
his  wife,  with  a  most  virtuous  expression,  "but  the 
men—  " 

"  If  we  have  no  belief  in  men,  they  will  have  very 
little  to  live  up  to;  don't  you  think  so?"  queried 
Monica,  and  Nell  dropped  into  a  chair  and  stared. 

"How  changed  are  the  minds  of  the  mighty!  Do 
you  remember,  Lane,  how  she  used  to  snub  us  all  to 
extinction  if  we  dared  talk  constancy  in  this  studio? 
Of  course,  Monica,  it's  this  way,"  she  elucidated; 
"we  pretend  to  believe  them,  and  they  pretend  to  be 
deceived  by  our  pretense,  but  no  one  is  fooled,  even  a 
little  bit!" 

There  was  laughter,  and  some  argument,  between 
the  Tony  Aliens  over  this  statement,  while  the  eyes 
of  Monica  and  Sargent  met  in  a  long  look  of  veiled 
understanding.  She  turned  away  with  quickened 
breath  to  greet  Mrs.  Dacy  and  Fannie  Smythe-Orville, 
whose  glance  went  quickly  from  Mrs.  Wayne  to  Mr. 
Sargent.  She  had  never  forgotten  that  he  was  always 
willing  to  go  with  Nell  to  that  studio,  though  he 
shunned  every  other  social  thing.  It  would  be  curious 
if,  after  all  —  and  her  mind  worked  rapidly  as  she 
crossed  the  room  and  tried  to  read  the  future  for  Glyn- 
don  Wayne,  if,  after  all,  this  glacial  wife  of  his  could 
be  aroused  to  a  really  active  interest  in  a  divorce. 

"Delighted  to  find  you  home  again,"  she  fluttered 


342  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

with  her  sweetest  smile,  uand  Mr.  Sargent.  How 
nice!  I've  something  really  good  to  tell  you,  you 
heart  breaker ! "  and  she  drew  him  aside  with  a  little 
coquettish  air  of  secrecy.  He  listened  with  a  polite 
smile,  but  his  eyes  were  on  Monica,  and  his  heart  filled 
with  impatience  as  the  group  enlarged  instead  of 
diminished.  She  also  was  under  a  feverish,  nervous 
strain,  visible  to  him  if  not  the  others.  His  eyes  soft 
ened  as  he  looked  at  her  and  remembered  how  often 
she  had  deceived  him  in  the  other  days  by  that  assump 
tion  of  cool  serenity. 

"Well,  Monica,  I  can't  say  you  look  any  better  for 
your  trip,"  said  Mrs.  Dacy,  looking  her  over,  critically, 
"Were  you  painting?" 

"  A  little." 

She  went  into  the  music  room  to  find  a  portfolio  of 
California  photographs  for  Tony,  and  Sargent  for  the 
first  time  had  an  opportunity  to  offer  his  assistance  and 
speak  with  her  alone  for  a  minute.  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville  directed  the  attention  of  Nell  to  them,  and  she, 
much  amused,  noted  that  Lane  was  speaking  with  quiet 
earnestness  to  Monica,  who  turned  away  with  an 
abruptness  almost  petulant. 

"Aunty,"  she  whispered,  with  real  joy,  "you  may 
observe  that  your  favorite  for  first  place  is  not  wear 
ing  the  willow  for  me,  not  for  a  moment.  He  just 
reached  town,  and  has  come  straight  to  see  Monica." 

"  A  lot  of  good  that  will  do  him." 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  343 

"  Not  a  particle,  and  Hallet  is  in  the  same  boat.  He 
was  here  before  any  of  us,  with  roses." 

"That's  the  effect  of  this  studio  life  and  the  inde 
pendence  of  it.  I  am  out  of  patience  with  George, 
for,  after  all,  she  is  still  Glyndon's  wife." 

"Why  don't  you  add  ' Poor  Glyndon'  ?"  asked  her 
niece,  irritated  at  the  tone.  But  the  entrance  of  Hallet, 
and  the  greetings,  quelled  the  little  discordant  note. 
Everyone  liked  Hallet,  and  Nell  scolded  him  for  com 
ing  so  late  that  she  could  only  say  "Howdy,"  as  she 
and  Tony  were  scheduled  for  a  tea  they  did  not  dare 
miss. 

"And  where,  Tony,  is  that  book  we  got  for  Lulu?  " 
she  demanded,  as  she  straightened  her  hat  and  adjusted 
her  wraps.  "You  did  not  leave  it  in  the  car,  did  you? 
I  want  Monica  to  decide  the  binding." 

Tony  found  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat  and 
slipped  from  its  pretty  box  a  volume  in  blue  and 
silver. 

"Very  sweet,"  commented  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
perfunctorily,  as  he  extended  the  book  for  her  opinion, 
"  and  so  dear  of  you  to  remember  her.  Is  it  a  story 
book?  She  is  devouring  romances  these  days.  Mr. 
Gilman  selects  most  of  them." 

"  Monica,  I  want  your  artistic  opinion  on  this," 
decided  Nell.  "Would  you  select  this  for  Lulu  in 
preference  to  a  flexible  kid  binding?  I  could  have 
the  latter  in  any  shade." 


344  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  I  should  think  the  decoration  of  this  would  appeal 
to  her,"  and  Monica  turned  the  volume  over  to  look 
at  the  back  lettering.  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss" ;  "  it  is 
very  daintily  gotten  up." 

"What  book  is  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
sharply.  "  I  never  looked  at  the  title,  will  they 
change  it?" 

"What  is  the  matter?"  demanded  Nell,  "don't  you 
like  it?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,  but  Lulu  is  so  curious  — 
she  is  at  that  awful  questioning  age.  If  she  likes  the 
story  she  will  want  to  know  all  about  who  wrote  it, 
where  she  lived,  and  —  well,  all  the  details.  So,  you 
see,"  she  added,  appealingly,  "you  see,  it  wouldn't 
do.  We  can't  quite  afford  to  ignore  the  author's  pe 
culiar  mode  of  life  —  and,  as  a  gift  to  a  young  girl — " 

"Oh,  good  Lord!"  growled  Nell,  as  if  sending  up 
a  prayer  for  patience.  Only  Monica  heard  her,  and 
she  gripped  Nell's  hand  for  silence. 

The  pointed  lack  of  comment,  or  encouragement, 
caused  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  to  recall  that  night  at  the 
bungalow  when  Mrs.  Wayne  had  made  her  plea  for 
another  woman  across  the  water. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  be  uncharitable,"  she  added, 
"I  really  feel  the  deepest  pity  for  the  misguided 
creatures  who  forget  the,  ah  —  the  conventions  in  that 
way.  But  should  I,  or  should  I  not,  allow  my  daugh 
ter  to  form  an  admiration  for  such  a  person?" 

Sargent,  watching  Monica,  felt  a  dull,  furious  re- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  34? 

sentment  against  the  speaker.  His  hands  clenched 
with  the  desire  of  primitive  man  to  protect  his  mate. 
Wild,  unknown  instincts  swept  over  him,  and  it  was 
with  an  effort  beyond  the  usual  that  he  schooled  him 
self  to  remark  quietly. 

"If  your  daughter  has  the  intelligence  to  appre 
ciate  the  wonderful  brain  of  that  wonderful  woman 
you  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  your  daughter! " 

"Oh!"  fluttered  Mrs.  Smyth e-Orville,  with  the 
eager  desire  to  be  well  in  the  graces  of  McLane 
Sargent.  "  It  is  not  a  question  of  brain,  Mr.  Sargent. 
I  know  nothing  about  her  brain,  but  I  think  we  all 
know  that  the,  ah  —  her  husband  —  was  a  man  whom 
the  law  would  not  allow  her  to  marry ! " 

"Their  marriage,  because  of  a  technicality,  was 
without  legal  form,"  he  assented.  "  But  it  was  true 
marriage,  for  all  that." 

"Lane  Sargent,  I  am  astonished!"  confessed  Mrs. 
Dacy,  shaking  her  head  at  him  in  her  most  decided 
way.     "I  never  expected  to  hear  you  express  such 
sentiments.      Such  a   woman   is   and  should  be   dis 
graced.    The  man  could  never  protect  her  from  that." 
"His  devotion  might  make  amends." 
"Perhaps,"    conceded   Hallet,    "but  how   can   we 
know?    I  doubt  if  it  ever  does  make  amends  to  a  sensi 
tive,  refined  woman." 

"Refined?"  and  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville 
was  a  protest  against  the  term. 

"Certainly;  even  absolute  evil  is  not  always  coarse. 


346  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

For    example,    there    is    Sargent's    Woman    of    the 
Twilight:' 

"But  you  must  concede  that  such  relations  are  a 
relative  evil/'  she  persisted,  and  Nell  glared  at  her, 
irritated  beyond  endurance  that  she  had  the  lack  of 
tact  to  bring  up  such  a  subject  after  that  experience  at 
the  bungalow.  No  wonder  Monica  turned  her  head 
away  in  stony,  absolutely  stony,  silence! 

"  It  depends  entirely  on  the  man  and  the  woman  in 
the  case,"  said  Sargent,  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville's  last  statement.  "The  same  rules  apply  to 
marriage  under  every  recognized  law." 

Hallet  smiled  at  him  with  lifted  brows. 

"You  go  far,"  he  observed,  "and  you  may  be  right 
in  one  way,  but  when  a  man  takes  a  woman  for  his 
wife,  and  has  to  apologize  for  her,  it  spells  disillusion. 
He  may  keep  up  a  brave  pretense,  and  even  succeed  in 
deceiving  the  woman  always,  but  the  affection  of  which 
a  man  can  not  be  proud  is  not  the  sort  to  influence  him 
to  much  that  is  good,  and  if  he  is  a  thinking  man  he 
knows  it." 

"  Good  sermon,  George,"  volunteered  Tony  ap 
provingly.  "We  all  promise  either  to  be  good  —  or 
stop  thinking.  Whose  side  are  you  on,  Madame 
Monica?" 

"I  know  before  she  speaks,"  said  Nell,  with  the 
laudable  desire  to  end  the  awkward  subject.  "She 
never  does  agree  with  Lane." 

"Then,  consider  that  I  have  spoken,"  said  Monica, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  347 

after  a  moment  of  hesitation.  But  she  turned  to  Hal- 
let  with  a  look  of  appeal,  maddening  to  Sargent,  at 
whom  she  would  not  look  at  all. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  she  asked.  "You  really  be 
lieve  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  to  care  for  a  woman 
with  the  best  love  of  his  nature  simply  because  her  idea 
of  marriage  does  not  depend  on  legal  forms?  Sup 
pose  the  legal  form  is  not  possible,  as  in  the  case 
quoted,  would  not  the  absolute  sacrifice  she  made,  her 
devotion — " 

She  ceased  speaking  as  Hallet,  slowly  smiling,  shook 
his  head. 

"  Men  care  most  for  the  women  who  make  no  such 
sacrifices.*' 

"  Such  men  would  be  ungrateful  —  animals,"  decided 
Sargent;  but  Monica,  whom  he  addressed,  did  not 
even  look  at  him. 

"  I  fancy,"  she  remarked,  "  that  it  is  not  gratitude 
women  care  for,  but — love." 

"  You  had  better  come  and  talk  to  me,  Lane,"  sug 
gested  Nell;  "you'll  be  more  appreciated!" 

Monica  turned  again  to  Hallet  as  to  a  bulwark  of 
strength  from  whom  she  hoped  much. 

;<You  are  thinking  only  of  your  legal  affairs,  and 
the  type  of  person  oftenest  involved  there.  But  the 
great  loves  of  history  have  been  unwedded  loves  —  des 
perate,  unhappy  loves,"  she  urged;  "and  such  natures, 
can  you  measure  them  by  smaller  rule?" 

"But  this  is  not  the  age  of  romantic  devotion, 


348  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Madame  Monica,"  said  Tony,  shielding  his  head  from 
an  imaginary  blow  from  his  wife,  "  even  if  I  do  say 
it  as  hadn't  ought  to.  Most  of  us  would  rather  be 
happy  in  an  average  sort  of  way  than  to  be  desper 
ately  happy  and  desperately  miserable  by  turns." 

"Do  I  exchange  this  book?"  demanded  Nell,  "and 
if  so,  for  what?  My  humble  opinion  is  that  the  author 
of  it  was  more  happy  in  the  life  she  chose  than  any 
we  could  have  chosen  for  her." 

"And  the  world,"  said  Sargent,  "is  richer  for  that 
life." 

"Lane,  I  am  disappointed  in  you,"  protested  Mrs. 
Dacy,  solemnly;  "you  pretend  you  did  find  a  saint-like 
creature  who  lived  in  that  half  light  of  life  —  your 
"twilight  woman"  —  but  that  was  in  a  pagan,  out  of 
the  world  place.  No  one  believes  in  them  anywhere 
else.  And  suppose  there  had  been  children?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Dacy,"  agreed  Hallet,  "that  side  of 
the  situation  has  to  be  considered.  All  the  decrees  of 
courts  cannot  change  the  social  status  of  the  children 
of  such  —  marriages." 

"  Do  any  of  you  high-brows  know  anything  against 
the  social  standing  of  old  Mother  Hubbard  who  went 
to  the  cupboard?"  demanded  Nell,  desperately.  "If 
she  is  all  right,  I  will  exchange  this  for  an  illustrated 
account  of  her  wonderful  dog,  warranted  not  to  cor 
rupt  the  youthful  mind!  Fan,"  she  added,  in  open 
confidence  to  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  "you  are  the  sort 
to  strain  at  a  gnat  and  swallow  a  camel,  and  sometimes 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  349 

you  make  me  very  tired.  Good-by,  Monica!  Come 
and  see  us,  Lane.  Come,  Tony  boy." 

Hallet  was  beside  Monica  as  she  clasped  hands  with 
Nell  and  Tony,  and  Lane  could  see  how  deep  was  his 
interest  as  he  asked  her  guardedly  if  she  had  not  come 
back  to  allow  him  again  the  privilege  of  looking  after 
that  legal  matter  for  her. 

And  Lane  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  hearing 
when  he  heard  her  say  "  no." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  right  to  venture  now,"  urged 
Hallet.  "  The  same  obstacle  can  never  occur  again." 

But  Monica  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  she  said.  "  I  have  only  come 
to  pack  up.  Life  here  has  been  spoiled  for  me.  I  am 
going  away — for  quite  a  while." 

"  I  hope  at  least  you  will  allow  me  to  talk  to  you  of 
it  again,"  he  said,  as  Mrs.  Dacy  joined  them,  and 
Sargent  found  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville's  muff,  and  walked 
with  them  to  the  door. 

"  I  will  see  you  to  the  elevator,"  he  said,  and  bowed 
to  Mrs.  Wayne,  as  they  all  went  out  along  the  hall 
together. 

"I'll  be  back,  Monica,  I  left  my  shopping  bag 
here,"  called  Mrs.  Dacy,  but  Monica  scarcely  heard. 
She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  looking  about  her 
in  a  desolate,  lonely  sort  of  way,  carrying  an  ache  to 
the  heart  of  Sargent,  who  glanced  back,  and  saw  her 
there. 

But  when  he  returned,  after  leaving  the  others  at 


350  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  entrance,  she  was  not  in  the  room.  He  halted, 
puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  into  the  music 
room. 

"Monica,"  he  called,  softly;  "Monica!" 

The  inner  door  opened  and  she  stood  on  the 
threshold,  all  her  cool  self-possession  gone,  her  hands 
reaching  out  to  him  in  utter  abandon. 

"  Is  it  true.  Lane,  is  it  true?  Oh,  they  were  thrust 
ing  knives  in  me,  all  those  people!  Is  it  all  true?" 

She  was  trembling  as  from  a  nervous  chill  and  he 
drew  her  into  his  arms,  holding  her  close  as  if  to  bar 
out  all  discordant  memory  of  the  world. 

"  Dear,"  he  said,  gently,  "  such  people  will  always 
have  such  ideas,  and  they  are  the  ideas  of  the  ma 
jority."  He  could  feel  her  grow  rigid  in  his  arms  as 
he  spoke.  "We  can't  change  that,  or  argue  it  now. 
Rather  than  see  you  tortured  like  that  again,  if  there 
was  no  other  way,  I  would  part  from  you  forever!" 

"Yes,  certainly,"  she  said,  coldly,  and  endeavored 
to  free  herself. 

"Monica!" 

"There  are  no  bonds  about  you." 

"  Monica ! " 

"And  all  the  doors  will  be  open  always  —  to  you! " 

"By—" 

"You  heard!  It  is  only  your  ( women  of  the  twi 
light'  who  are  disgraced,  the  world  sees  no  shac[ow 
on  the  lives  of  men!" 

"We  all  know  that,  but  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  351 

you  and  me.  We  will  be  married,  as  other  people  are 
married,  as  soon  as  it  is  legally  possible." 

She  gave  him  a  strange  look,  and  releasing  herself 
gently  sank  into  a  chair,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands.  He  stood  looking  down  at  her,  troubled,  per 
plexed,  then  brought  a  chair  beside  her,  and  drew  the 
covered  face  to  his  breast,  touching  with  his  lips  the 
beautiful  crown  of  her  hair. 

"  I  can't  understand  you,  my  Dona  Querida,"  he 
half  whispered  in  the  fond  reasoning  tone  of  a  love 
that  was  absolute.  "  So  short  a  time  since  we  parted 
in  your  wonderful  old  garden,  yet  I  find  you  a  differ 
ent  woman!  You  come  back  to  consult  Hallet  about 
that  divorce,  yet  I  heard  you  tell  him  you  had  no  busi 
ness  for  him  to  arrange.  We  planned  that  you  remain 
here  for  the  winter,  yet  I  hear  you  say  that  you  leave 
very  soon."  She  nodded  her  head  in  silence,  and 
nestled  closer  in  his  arms.  "Your  letters  have  been 
filled  with  a  vague  discontent,  you  seem  to  have  for 
gotten  everything  of  our  life  together,  the  days  just 
past,  and  the  plans  for  the  future." 

"Oh,  the  future!"  breathed  Monica,  sobbingly,  and 
rose  to  her  feet  with  outflung  arms  of  utter  despair. 
She  would  have  evaded  him,  but  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  and  held  her,  gripping  her  in  fierce  protest,  and 
the  tone  of  tender  reasoning  was  gone. 

"Do  you  think  I  will  allow  this  to  go  on?"  he 
demanded.  "It  is  this  infernal  secrecy  wearing  on 
your  nerves  until  you  are  actually  ill.  I  will  not  have 


352  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

it  one  more  day  than  is  necessary  —  and  you  shan't  go 
away! " 

"I  must  go,  Lane,  I  must!" 

"  No,  tomorrow  you  have  Hallet  plan  for  that 
divorce,  here  or  elsewhere!  It  may  take  months, 
and—" 

"Months!"  she  interrupted,  despairingly.  "I  tell 
you,  I  meant  what  I  said  to  Hallet.  I  —  I  have  had 
to  change  my  mind  concerning  the  divorce." 

He  stepped  back  from  her,  anger  and  incredulity  in 
his  face. 

"  Changed  your  mind!  Changed  your  mind?  And 
about  our  marriage?" 

"And  about  —  our  marriage!"  she  agreed,  hope 
lessly. 

"Are  you  absolutely  mad?"  he  demanded.  "Has 
the  accursed  chatter  of  those  women — " 

"Oh,"  she  moaned  in  utter  abandon,  "the  talk  of 
those  people  could  not  have  hurt  me  if  I,  myself,  had 
not  made  it  possible.  The  talk  of  those  people  —  oh, 
Lane! "  and  her  tones  were  tender  with  the  weight  of 
memories.  "It  was  only  you  and  I  in  all  the  world! 
And  I  had  been  so  sickened  of  the  world's  creeds  and 
laws,  many  of  them  weak,  many  of  them  wicked! 
They  seemed  such  trifling  things  that  I  threw  them 
aside  —  glad  to  show  you  the  world  was  nothing  to  me 
and  that  you  were  everything !  But  the  talk  of  those 
people  —  if  there  had  been  children!  Lane,  they  are 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  353 

right,  I  only  thought  of  our  world  as  it  was,  not  of 
our  world  as  it  might  be ! " 

She  was  clinging  to  him,  her  face  hidden,  and  her 
frame  shaken  with  dry,  despairing  sobs.  He  stroked 
her  hair  soothingly,  his  eyes  hard  and  strained  from 
the  pain  he  had  to  witness  and  for  which  he  could 
give  so  little  help! 

"Monica!"  he  whispered,  "look  up,  don't  hide 
your  face  from  me  like  that.  I  scarcely  know  you  in 
this  mood.  Where  is  my  sweetheart  comrade  of  our 
southern  days?  Where  is  my  Dona  Querida,  the  little 
rebel  who  would  have  defied  the  universe  ?  Look  up, 
sweetheart.  Where  is  your  daring,  your  bravery,  your 
philosophy  ?" 

"  Gone,  all  gone ! "  she  confessed,  brokenly. 

"Then  I  must  do  the  thinking  for  both,"  he  de» 
cided,  "  and  act  at  once.  I  will  see  Hallet  tonight,  and 
tell  him  he  is  to  go  ahead,  and — " 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  she  protested,  wildly.  "  You  must 
not,  you  can  not!  It  is  too  late  —  for  that!" 

"Too  —  late?"  He  stared  at  her,  frowning  and 
perplexed. 

"She  said  —  //  there  had  been  —  children  —  oh, 
Lane—" 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  mere  whisper,  and  with  drooped 
head  and  hands  clasped  tightly  over  her  breast  she 
stood  before  him,  wordless  yet  eloquent. 

For  one  astounded  moment  he  gazed  at  her,  incred 
ulous,  and  then  swept  her  into  his  arms. 


354  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  My  poor  little  girl!"  and  his  voice  trembled  with 
its  weight  of  tenderness.  "And  you  have  been  fight 
ing  this  question  out  all  alone?  Well,  sweetheart,  we 
will  share  the  secret  together  now,  you  and  I ! " 

"And  we  will  go  away?"  she  whispered;  "away?" 
'Yes,  we  will  go  away.  Now  listen:  your  friends 
are  coming  back,  they  must  not  find  me  here.  We 
must  be  very  careful  and  very  wise,  little  woman. 
After  they  have  gone,  I  will  return,  and  we  can  have 
the  long  hours  for  our  plans.  Is  that  what  you 
want?" 

She  nodded  her  head  in  silence,  and  a  great  tender 
ness  swept  over  him  at  the  new  shyness,  and  her  sud 
den  absolute  dependence  on  him.  He  lifted  her  in  his 
arms  and  laid  her  on  the  couch,  kneeling  beside  her 
and  looking  deep,  deep  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  now,"  he  whispered,  "  and  while  I  am 
gone  you  are  to  lie  here  and  rest,  and  hold  but  one 
thought  close  in  your  heart!  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
it  is?" 

She  nodded,  and  held  his  hands  clasped  in  hers, 
while  he  bent  over  her,  his  lips  on  her  forehead,  her 
eyes,  and  her  tremulous  mouth. 

"  It  is  that  you  belong  to  me  now  more  than  ever  — 
my  Dona  Querida  1 " 

Twice  Rosa  ventured  into  the  studio  after  the  last 
caller  had  taken  his  departure,  but  each  time  her  mis 
tress  lay  with  closed  eyes  as  if  asleep,  and  she  feared 
to  disturb  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

T  ATER,  however,  a  call  at  the  telephone  told  her 
Hettie,  with  Sister  Teresa,  was  downstairs,  and  if 
Mrs.  Wayne  was  not  engaged  — 

"What  is  it,  Rosa?"  asked  Monica  from  the  couch. 
"Yes,  Hettie  was  to  bring  back  some  work  today, 
and  Sister  Teresa  has  a  protege  near  here  for  whom  I 
promised  help.  I  don't  feel  quite  equal  to  help  of  a 
strenuous  sort,  Rosa,  but  have  them  come  in  here,  and 
perhaps  some  tea — " 

She  felt  too  worn  out  by  the  day  to  adjust  herself 
easily  to  even  the  simple  demands  Sister  Teresa  or 
Hettie  might  make,  yet  it  seemed  easier  to  receive 
them  than  not  to,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  she 
could  feel  the  older  woman's  desire  to  come  close  — 
close  as  she  had  been  in  the  other  days. 

And  Monica  Wayne  knew  that  in  the  new  world  — 
the  world  of  the  new  dream  —  she  must  walk  alone 
without  sympathy  or  understanding  from  women ! 

If  the  love  of  the  one  man  enfolded  her,  even  that 
must  be  a  triple  wall  against  their  old  world,  and  their 
very  hearts  must  do  sentinel  duty  forever  along  the 
parapet! 

"Ah,  Querida  mia\  Is  it  that  you  are  ill?"  and 
Sister  Teresa  bent  over  her  eagerly.  "An  ache  in 

355 


356  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  head  maybe?  All  the  people  coming,  yes?  Good 
that  it  is  only  the  tired  body  today.  Hettie  has  come 
but  now  with  me  from  where  there  are  tired  souls. 
So  good  she  is,  your  Hettie !  For  a  child  she  is  so 
wise  to  help." 

Monica  lay  with  her  hand  sheltering  her  eyes  as 
the  light  was  turned  on  in  growing  dusk,  and  Hettie 
coming  in  uttered  a  little  cry  at  the  sight  of  her  pale 
face. 

"You  are  really  ill,  are  you  not?"  she  asked.  "A 
headache?  Oh,  let  me  help  that!  I  can,  I  am  sure  I 
can  —  this  way,"  and  she  pressed  her  fingers  slowly 
over  the  temples. 

"Your  fingers  are  cool,  you  are  very  kind,"  mur 
mured  Monica,  in  a  sort  of  dreamy  content  that  the 
thought  of  the  headache  would  send  them  home  very 
soon  —  and  then  he  would  come  back,  and  then  — 

"Kind!"  breathed  Hettie  Craig,  with  a  little  sigh, 
"  I  wish  I  could  do  some  kind  thing  for  you.  You 
lifted  me  out  of  despair,  and  have  given  me  beautiful 
work.  I  did  not  bring  the  sewing  because  I  have  been 
helping  Sister  Teresa  today,  and  she  praised  me  for 
it.  Oh,  and  I  was  so  proud,  and — " 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Monica,  opening  her  eyes. 
"  I  want  her  to  know  that  Mrs.  Allen  is  interested  in 
her  work  of  refuge.  I  told  her  of  it  today.  She  will 
send  all  the  work  she  can,  sewing  and  embroidery,  and 
she  will  send  her  friends." 

"How  good!"  murmured  Hettie.     "Sister  Teresa 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  357 

went  with  Rosa  to  see  that  your  tea  is  made  some 
certain  way.  She  will  be  happy  over  special  interest 
in  the  work.  To  keep  the  girls  employed  helps  so 
wonderfully — and  to  have  pretty  work — " 

Her  voice  died  away  in  her  throat,  and  Monica, 
opening  her  eyes,  saw  Mrs.  Dacy  in  the  studio.  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville  was  with  her. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,"  was  Mrs.  Dacy's  comment. 
"We  ran  up  for  my  shopping  bag,  I  couldn't  carry  it 
to  a  tea."  Then  she  noticed  the  girl  with  averted 
head  who  knelt  beside  the  couch.  "  What  is  wrong?  " 
she  added,  "sick?" 

"  Oh,  no,  a  bit  tired,"  and  Monica  got  up  from  the 
couch  with  a  little  nod  of  dismissal  to  the  girl. 
"Thank  you,  Hettie." 

"  Hettie !  "  and  the  amazed  tone  of  Mrs.  Dacy  made 
the  girl  shrink  as  she  turned  away.  "  I  thought  so ! 
Well,  Monica,  I  must  say  you  are  careless!" 

"  I  don't  understand,"  and  Monica  looked  at  the 
girl,  who  could  not  meet  her  eyes,  but  stood  still, 
stricken  with  fear. 

Mrs.  Dacy  turned  to  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 

"That  is  the  girl  I  told  you  of  at  the  shore  —  had 
to  send  her  away  for  waylaying  gentlemen  in  the 
garden." 

"Oh,  shocking!" 

"Mrs.  Dacy!"  protested  Monica,  "there  is  some 
mistake,  some  hideous  mistake !  " 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  declared  Mrs.  Dacy,  sol- 


358  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

emnly,  "  she  belongs  to  the  class  we  were  discussing 
here  but  a  little  while  ago  —  never  dependable!  She 
secured  one  position  by  referring  to  me  and — " 

"  It  was  only  concerning  the  work,"  said  Hettie,  her 
pleading  eyes  on  Mrs.  Dacy's  face;  but  the  plea  was 
not  heeded,  for  Mrs.  Dacy  nodded  her  head  warn- 
ingly  at  Monica,  as  she  stated  grimly:  "She  never 
tried  that  again!" 

"  No ! "  burst  out  Hettie  with  sudden  force,  and  a 
note  of  poignant  despair  as  she  saw  the  safe  ground 
crumbling  beneath  her,  "you  had  me  sent  away,  and 
that  woman  had  me  sent  away  from  another  place, 
until  there  was  nothing  left  to  me  but  —  the  streets!" 

Monica,  bewildered,  laid  her  hand  on  Hettie's 
shoulder  detainingly,  but  her  gaze  was  turned  on  Mrs. 
Dacy. 

"Is  that  your  Christian  charity?"  she  asked,  and 
while  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  shrugged  slightly  and  ad 
justed  her  furs,  Mrs.  Dacy  felt  momentarily  uncom 
fortable,  though  of  course  the  frightened,  desperate 
countenance  of  the  girl  betrayed  that  she  was  trapped, 
and  knew  it. 

"  Monica,  you  don't  understand,"  she  stated,  with 
decision;  "also,  you  should  have  consulted  me  before 
engaging  her.  Such  people  always  have  queer 
acquaintances,"  and  she  made  a  comprehensive  gesture 
towards  the  rugs  and  bric-a-brac.  "One  would  think 
for  your  own  sake  you  would  be  cautious.  The  girl 
comes  of  exceedingly  doubtful  stock,  and — " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  359 

"Even  if  that  were  true,"  interrupted  Monica, 
"could  you  not,  among  your  various  organized  mis 
sions,  find  a  home  for  one  girl  who  only  asked  leave 
to  work?" 

"  Monica ! "  protested  Mrs.  Dacy,  strong  in  the 
consciousness  of  virtuous  intents.  'Your  ideas  have 
always  been  peculiar,  and  —  elastic.  Fortunately,  my 
name  is  too  well  known  in  deserving  charities  to  be 
affected  by  such  opinions.  I  try  to  do  you  a  favor,  but 
it  is  evidently  not  appreciated;  but  I  warn  you !  Come, 
Fannie." 

"  So  sorry  to  intrude,  dear  Mrs.  Wayne,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  "  and  I  trust  you  will  not  allow 
this  sad  affair  to  —  to  really  trouble  you  much.  Good 
evening,"  and  the  soft  rustle  of  her  gown  alone  broke 
the  silence  as  she  hastened  into  the  hall  after  the  af 
fronted  lady. 

The  room  seemed  strangely  silent  after  their  de 
parture.  The  girl  stood  shamed,  as  if  waiting  sen 
tence,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  After  that  one 
outbreak,  she  seemed  to  shrink  within  herself  more 
than  ever,  a  beaten,  shaken  reed  in  the  winds  of  her 
little  world. 

Across  the  hall  could  be  heard  the  cheery  tinkle  of 
tea  things  on  a  tray,  and  the  voice  of  Maum  Rosa, 
elated  that  the  wonderful  lady  in  the  habit  of  a  sister 
hood  should  actually  walk  into  her  kitchen,  approve 
all  things  in  her  soft,  musical  speech,  and  find  pleas 
ure  in  adjusting  things  on  a  tray.  It  was  as  if  a 


360  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

habitant  of  a  different  planet  had  stepped  down  to  help 
wait  on  her  Miss  Mona,  an  invasion  a  trifle  embar 
rassing,  yet  to  be  glowingly  proud  of. 

Monica,  seated  on  the  couch,  regarded  the  shamed 
girl  wistfully,  yet  did  not  speak  until  the  outer  door 
had  closed  on  the  callers;  then  she  reached  out  her 
hand. 

"  Come  here,  Hettie,"  she  said,  quietly.  "Why  did 
you  not  tell  me?" 

"Oh,  I  was  afraid,  afraid!"  said  the  girl,  sinking 
on  the  floor  beside  her,  in  a  very  tempest  of  shaking 
sobs.  She  had  been  braced  against  coldness,  but 
against  the  tenderness  in  Monica's  tones  all  her  bar 
riers  were  useless,  and  she  knelt  there,  her  head  on  the 
couch,  broken  and  trembling. 

"  Af raid  of  me,  Hettie?" 

The  girl  nodded  her  head,  struggling  to  control 
her  voice  for  speech. 

"Afraid  of  —  of  everybody,"  she  acknowledged. 
"Even  good  women  can  be  terribly  hard  on  the  girls 
who  —  who  have  not  had  their  chances  in  life.  I  did 
get  one  place  as  nurse  —  two  lovely  children,"  and 
there  was  a  wistful  smile  on  her  tear-wet  face  as  she 
lifted  it,  "  and  they  —  they  were  fond  of  me.  But  the 
lady  sent  me  away  when  she  learned  my  mother  had 
never  been  married;  she  could  not  risk  her  children 
with  a  girl  who  might  inherit  vicious  tendencies  from 
such  a  mother." 

Monica  rose  to  her  feet  abruptly,  staring  at  Hettie, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  361 

fascinated,  yet  drawing  away,  and  the  girl,  frightened, 
appealing,  uttered  a  little  cry  as  she  clung  to  her  skirt. 

"Oh!  don't  you  turn  against  me,"  she  moaned.  "/ 
can't  help  it.  All  my  life  I  Ve  had  to  fight  that  dis 
grace.  You  don't  know  what  that  means  to  a  girl  — 
but  it 's  terrible !  Terrible  to  be  met  at  every  turn  by 
people,  men  as  well  as  women,  who  think  I  must  be 
vile  because  my  mother  was  no  man's  wife." 

"Hettie,  Hettie!"  whispered  Monica,  putting  out 
her  hands  in  protest,  "you,  you  hurt  me!  Don't, 
Hettie." 

Sister  Teresa  crossed  the  hall  and  halted,  surprised 
and  puzzled,  at  the  rigid  figure  of  Monica,  her  head 
thrown  back,  staring  as  if  in  terror  at  the  girl  clutch 
ing  her  skirt,  the  girl  muttering,  "It  is  true,  it  is  true. 
The  word  '  mother '  holds  nothing  sacred  to  me.  I  am 
glad  she  died  before  I  could  remember  her  face,  and 
—  hate  it!" 

"Santa  Maria!"  the  cry  of  horror  from  Sister 
Teresa,  as  she  crossed  the  room  and  laid  her  hand 
on  the  girl's  arm,  "  what  words,  what  words !  " 

But  Hettie  threw  off  the  restraining  hand  and  strug 
gled  to  her  feet,  staring  from  one  to  the  other  like  a 
creature  at  bay. 

"  I  am  glad,  I  am ! "  she  protested  wildly.  "  Now 
you  know  how  bad  I  am,  and  you  will  send  me  away. 
But  I  am  glad!  That  is  the  one  sin  for  which  there 
should  be  no  forgiveness  —  the  endless  sin  against  an 
innocent  child ! " 


362  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

uHettie,  little  one!"  pleaded  Sister  Teresa,  cross 
ing  herself  at  the  horror  of  non-forgiveness,  "  the  good 
God  does  forgive,  and  the  saints  do  — " 

But  Hettie  threw  up  her  head  in  the  defiance  of 
desperation  against  the  heavy  odds  of  the  world. 

"How  could  He?"  she  demanded.  "Would  God 
dare  forgive  her  in  Heaven  and  leave  me  here,  in 
hell!  —  an  outcast  —  to  suffer  for  her  sin?" 

Then  the  two  clung  together  in  terror  as  Monica 
Wayne  without  a  word  or  a  cry  crumpled  down  into 
unconsciousness. 

Maum  Rosa,  halted  on  the  threshold  by  the  star 
tling  words  of  the  two,  put  aside  her  tray  and  reached 
her  mistress  before  the  other  two  recovered  from  their 
absolute  consternation. 

"Oh,  what  have  I  done?  what  have  I  done?" 
moaned  Hettie,  as  she  huddled  down  beside  Monica, 
who  lay  white  —  white  as  the  roses  of  silence  on  her 
own  breast. 

"You  all  go  'long  out  of  here!"  commanded  the 
black  woman,  her  tones  thick  with  rage.  "All  you 
white  folks  in  this  north  country  jest  a-killin'  the  life 
out  o'  my  Miss  Mona !  Don't  you  touch  her!  I'll 
take  care  of  my  baby  my  own  self,  an1  you  all  go  'long 
out  o'  here ! " 


CHAPTER  XX 

chug-chug  of  a  little  steamer  sounded  through 
the  woods  of  southern  cypress  and  live  oak,  and 
Monica  Wayne,  under  the  curtains  of  swaying  gray 
moss,  walked  beside  a  round-faced  little  man  with 
kindly  eyes,  and  a  worried  expression.  He  carried  a 
medicine  case,  and  waved  his  hand  to  Jim,  Maum 
Rosa's  grandson,  who,  in  a  dugout  canoe,  was  waiting 
a  few  rods  from  the  river  bank  to  signal  the  up-coming 
boat. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  can't  see  your  husband  today,  Mrs. 
Wayne,"  he  repeated,  and  glanced  back  along  the 
path,  "but  I  have  to  get  up  the  river  to  Atkins  Land 
ing—got  to!"  Then  he  turned  his  troubled  gaze 
again  to  her  rather  pale  face,  "You  take  care  of  your 
self,"  he  ordered.  "We  have  to  take  care  of  our 
selves,  no  matter  what  we  have  to  go  through !  Fact 
is,  we  need  to  take  more  care  the  more  we  have  to 
go  through,  and,  and  —  well  —  don't  let  anything  over 
whelm  you  again,  and — " 

The  boat  whistle  sounded  a  reply  to  Jim's  signal 
and  it  seemed  to  silence  speech  for  him. 

"  But  there  is  nothing  now  to  overwhelm  me,  doc 
tor,  since  he  is  better,"  she  answered,  with  a  wan 
smile.  "  I  am  tired,  of  course  —  just  the  lack  of  sleep 

363 


364  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

but  now  that  he  is  sleeping  —  oh,  it  is  so  wonderful! 
And  when  I  can  tell  his  father  that  it  will  not  even 
be  necessary  for  you  to  come  again,  well  —  after  the 
awful  dread  —  you  know — " 

The  bell  was  clanging,  and  the  little  steamer  was 
backing  in  order  to  head  into  the  shore.  Two  black 
men  were  shoving  a  plank  from  the  lower  deck,  and 
the  little  old  doctor  nodded  his  head,  and  grasped 
tightly  the  hand  she  offered. 

uYes,  I  do  know,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  were  not 
quite  dry,  as  he  looked  on  her  hopeful  face.  'Yes, 
dear  child,  I  do  know,  God  bless  you!  and — " 

The  plank  touched  the  shore. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  and  ran  across  the  narrow 
bridge.  Then  the  bell  clanged  again,  and  the  boa? 
backed  into  the  stream  and  headed  up  the  little  winding 
river  between  the  lines  of  cypress,  moss-draped  and 
vine-girdled. 

The  doctor  stood,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  back 
at  her  for  a  space;  then,  lifting  his  hat  in  grave  salute, 
he  turned  away. 

Jim,  slender  and  agile  as  a  weasel,  ran  his  dugout 
into  shore,  tied  it  to  a  cypress  knee,  and  scudded  up 
along  the  woods,  disappearing  around  the  corner  of 
a  high  wall  of  green  hedge. 

Monica  followed  him  more  slowly.  All  her  move 
ments  had  a  certain  weary  languor,  and  she  halted 
here  and  there,  noting  the  sudden  awakening  to  life 
of  various  blooming  things  under  a  late  warm  rain. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  365 

Jim  had  been  a  careful  caretaker,  and  the  old  colonial 
cottage  had  roses  abloom  over  the  lattice  to  the  south ; 
and  here  and  there  over  the  tall  hedge  a  struggling 
vine  peeped,  carrying  a  bit  of  color. 

Sargent,  standing  in  one  of  the  windows,  unbuck 
ling  riding  leggings,  watched  her  moving — a  bit  of 
white  and  scarlet — through  the  wild  beauty  of  the  old 
garden.  Little  had  been  pruned,  and  the  oleanders 
made  thickets  of  rich  color  against  the  gray-green  of 
the  cypress  trees  with  their  burden  of  swaying  mosses. 
The  scarlet  bolero  and  belt  she  wore,  and  the  scarlet 
ribbons  of  her  wide  hat,  made  her,  in  her  white  gown, 
seem  but  another,  dearer  flower  in  the  quaint  old 
garden. 

Yet  a  quick  frown  of  pain  came  to  him  as  he  watched 
her  —  she  fitted  that  corner  of  ancient  peace  so  well! 
In  the  same  garden  her  grandmother  had  been  wooed 
in  a  former  day,  and  Rosa  could  tell  under  which 
rose-tree  the  mother  of  Monica  had  said  "yes"  to  her 
lover.  The  place  was  haunted  by  the  wraiths  of  those 
lovely  women  and  the  men  who  had  loved  them.  Their 
eyes  looked  down  at  him  hauntingly  from  the  old 
walls  —  gentle,  distinguished  faces  —  and  one  sweet 
portrait  over  the  writing-desk  with  eyes  so  hauntingly 
alive  that  there  were  moments  when  he  could  have 
wished  it  removed  had  courage  come  to  voice  the 
thought.  The  eyes  were  those  of  Monica's  mother  — 
the  fair  girl  wife  whose  years  had  been  so  few. 

He  turned  with  a  sigh  from  the  window  and  opened 


366  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  package  of  mail  for  which  he  had  ridden  eight 
miles  across  the  country  that  morning.  Rosa  came 
in  quietly  from  the  adjoining  room,  picked  up  the  mail- 
bag  and  leggings  and  put  them  in  the  closet.  Then 
she  stood  at  one  of  the  windows  a  moment  looking 
out  at  Monica  coming  slowly  through  the  garden,  and 
again  looked  at  Sargent,  who  was  opening  mail.  She 
seemed  worried  and  anxious,  but  at  last  ventured  to 
speak. 

"  Mr.  Lane,  please  sir,  would  you  lend  me  your 
watch?"  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,  Maum  Rosa,  to  time  the  medicine 
with?"  She  did  not  make  any  reply  as  she  accepted 
the  watch,  and  he  added,  "The  place  was  so  quiet 
when  I  came  in  that  I  thought  you  were  all  asleep." 

"  No,  sir,  no  one  asleep  but  him,"  she  said,  with  a 
motion  of  her  head  towards  the  door;  then  she  added, 
significantly,  "He  been  a-sleepin'  all  morning!" 

"That's  the  change  for  the  better  of  which  the 
doctor  spoke,  isn't  it?"  he  asked. 

"That's  what  Miss  Mona  thinks,"  she  answered, 
evasively,  and  she  scanned  anxiously  the  face  of  her 
mistress  as  she  stepped  in  from  the  veranda  through 
the  glass  door. 

But  there  was  no  anxiety  in  Monica's  face.  She 
smiled  brightly  at  Sargent,  and  went  direct  to  the 
inner  door,  looking  in  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Lane,    I    am   almost   happy   this   morning,"    she 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  367 

announced,  standing  beside  him,  her  hands  on  his 
shoulder.  "He  is  still  sleeping,  and  all  the  fever 
gone!  That  good  doctor  spoke  as  if  he  would  not 
need  to  come  again.** 

"That  is  fine!"  and  Sargent  reached  up  and 
clasped  her  hand,  but  Rosa,  who  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  stood  still,  listening  and  troubled. 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  and  Mon;ca  removed  her  hat  and 
gave  it  to  Rosa.  "  I  think  he  was  really  sorry  to  end 
his  visits;  told  me  to  take  care  of  myself,  and  called 
me  a  dear  child." 

"Called  you  a  'dear  child,'  did  he?"  growled  Sar 
gent,  with  assumed  ferocity;  "perhaps  it  was  just  as 
well  I  was  not  here ! " 

Monica  smiled,  pinched  his  ear,  and  then  nestled 
down  beside  him  in  a  low  willow-chair. 

"How  ungrateful  of  you!"  she  observed,  "for  he 
wanted  especially  to  see  you — waited  until  the  last 
minute.  The  boat  put  in  for  him  at  our  landing.  Did 
you  hear  the  whistle?" 

He  nodded,  and  drew  her  hand  up  to  his  lips,  which 
demonstration  having  been  paid  in  kind,  she  arose  and 
began  to  busy  herself  with  a  work-basket  filled  with 
dainty  muslins,  narrow  laces,  and  narrowest  of  blue 
ribbons,  one  bolt  of  the  latter  having  unrolled  several 
yards  of  itself  to  the  confusion  of  the  rest  of  the 
collection. 

"You  know,  Lane,"  she  observed,  "I  never  was 
nervous  in  this  way  before.  I  suppose  it  is  because  of 


368  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

the  awful  strain  I  —  we  have  been  under.  I  seem  to 
need  some  work  for  my  hands  to  do  every  minute 
when  I  am  not  with  him ! "  Then  after  a  moment  she 
added,  "You  were  much  longer  away  today." 

"Yes,  there  were  so  many  things  to  see  to  per 
sonally,  and  one  has  to  guard  every  move.  It  was  a 
good  thought  to  have  my  mail  forwarded  to  a  point 
in  Alabama,  though  I  am  confident  that  postmaster 
thinks  I  am  a  highway  robber  or  a  confidence  man  hid 
ing  somewhere  in  the  swamps.  It  would  have  its 
humorous  side  under  other  circumstances,  but,"  and  he 
turned  to  the  letters,  "it  is  horrible  to  live  in  this 
enforced  secrecy! " 

Monica  ceased  winding  the  blue  ribbon,  and  stared 
into  the  garden. 

"A  year  ago  you  did  not  find  it  horrible,"  she  said, 
at  last. 

"What?"  he  turned  to  look  at  her,  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand.  Then  at  sight  of  her  face  he  put  down 
the  letter  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"A  year  ago,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "there  was  no 
such  danger  for  you.  A  note  of  alarm  and  we  had 
only  to  fold  our  tent,  that  is  untie  our  canoe,  and  drift 
away  into  some  other  haven  of  romance!  Ah,  those 
beautiful  days  and  that  beautiful  garden  and  your 
wonderful  rose  arbor!  Paradise  must  grow  roses 
with  that  same  fragrance  else  Paradise  will  lack 
charm  for  me  1 " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  369 

He  was  smiling  down  on  her,  but  she  did  not  meet 
his  gaze ;  her  eyes  were  clouded,  and  her  voice  almost 
cold,  as  she  asked: 

"When  Love  looks  backward  for  sunshine,  what 
sign  is  that?" 

"  Monica,  don't,"  he  begged.  "  This  curse  of 
brooding,  of  analyzing  each  emotion,  will  kill  our 
happiness  forever  if  you  persist  in  it.  We  have  en 
dured  suffering  enough  these  past  weeks  —  how  dare 
you  be  morbid  today? " 

uOh,  Lane,  you  are  right — you  are  always  right," 
she  confessed,  brokenly.  "I  know  I  make  you 
wretched.  But  what  we  have  lived  through  makes  a 
woman  think,  think,  think!" 

"Stop  thinking  1"  he  commanded,  drawing  her 
down  beside  him  on  the  window  seat.  "  Measure  your 
happiness  today  by  our  misery  if  our  boy  had  not 
recovered  —  to  have  gone  on  through  life  together 
without  him ! " 

"Together!  "  she  half  whispered;  but  he  caught  the 
strange  tone,  and  turned  on  her  sharply. 

"Together  —  how  else?"  he  demanded.  "Why  do 
you  speak  like  that?  Why  do  you  look  like  that? 
What  accursed  thought  is  in  your  head  now?" 

"Oh  —  h!"  she  assented,  wearily,  "accursed 
thought  indeed,  perhaps,  but  a  curse  duly  weighed  and 
measured,  and  bought,  and — paid  for!" 

He  stared  at  her  helplessly.    All  that  a  man  could 


370  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

do  he  had  done  —  all  that  she  would  let  him  do;  and 
as  he  looked  at  her,  a  moody  figure  staring  out  into 
the  sunlit  garden,  he  knew  it  had  been  a  failure! 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  hair  as  she  sat,  chin  on 
hand,  a  still,  fateful  figure. 

"  One  year !  "  he  said,  hopelessly,  "  one  year !  And 
all  our  love  has  not  brought  happiness  to  you!  oh, 
Monica !" 

But  she  did  not  answer,  and  he  turned  with  a  sigh 
to  the  desk.  It  seemed  so  incredible  that  they  should 
be  together,  yet  not  happy.  All  his  heart  went  out  to 
her,  yet  there  were  times  when  she  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  cross  the  barrier  of  moody  self-condemna 
tion.  At  first  he  had  told  himself  it  was  her  own  health 
by  which  those  moments  of  depression  were  caused; 
then  the  troubled  secrecy  of  their  journeyings  when 
they  had  traveled,  each  separately,  to  meet  at  some 
point  out  of  the  beaten  track;  then,  when  all  their 
plans  had  been  arranged,  and  all  safety  apparently 
assured,  there  had  come  the  sudden  illness  of  the 
young  soul  for  whom  they  had  opened  the  gates  of 
the  world,  and  her  despair  had  called  him  quickly  back 
to  their  one  safe  home-nest  under  the  live  oaks. 

Looking  at  her  sadly,  he  realized  that  only  time, 
the  long  days  of  the  future  when  she  was  safely  his 
wife  by  the  standards  of  the  world,  would  adjust  her 
mind  to  the  sense  of  security  necessary  for  happiness. 
The  long  months  of  brooding  dread  were  not  to  be 
erased  by  a  few  hours  of  hope  or  sunshine,  and  there 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  371 

was  no  word  he  could  speak  to  lift  the  cloud  from  her 
mind  —  that  was  the  tragic  wall  between  them. 

So  he  turned  back  to  the  desk  and  lifted  the  letter 
again,  and  as  he  read  there  was  the  warm  glow  of 
pleasure  touching  his  face  for  a  moment.  The  unex 
pected,  unforeseen  thing  had  happened,  and  he  swung 
round  to  her  with  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  joy. 
She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

But  another  thought  came  to  him,  and  the  joy  went 
out  of  his  eyes  and  he  pushed  the  letter  back  into  its 
envelope.  "  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said,  lamely,  in  answer 
to  her  look. 

"Lane,  what  is  it?"  she  asked,  and  was  keenly 
alert  to  the  assumed  indifference  of  his  reply  that  it 
was  merely  one  of  the  usual  things  coming  to  a  writer 
of  romances.  Some  one  was  always  bobbing  up  ask 
ing  for  dramatic  rights. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  like  that?"  she  asked. 

"I — think  not."  But  he  did  not  look  at  her,  and 
proceeded  to  tear  off  the  wrappings  of  some  maga 
zines. 

She  came  over  and  stood  beside  him,  and  he  slipped 
his  arm  about  her,  pressing  his  face  fondly  against 
her  sweet,  slender  body. 

"  But  you  looked  so  glad  for  just  one  moment,"  she 
persisted,  and  then  she  caught  sight  of  the  envelope 
and  realized  the  significance  of  the  theatrical  producer 
whose  address  was  on  it. 

"Lane!"  she  cried  eagerly,  "you  surely  would  wel- 


372  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

come  offers  from  him.  What  is  it  they  want?  Do  tell 
me  if  it  is  good  news  of  your  work." 

He  looked  at  her  and  hesitated,  but  realized  that 
hesitation  would  arouse  doubt  in  her  ever  sensitive 
mind,  and  without  further  protest  he  gave  her  the 
letter. 

"Oh,  for  Twilight t"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  widen 
ing  at  the  letter  and  the  terms  offered.  "  But  Lane, 
why  this  is  fine,  and  —  unusual.  They  want  it  at  once, 
to  produce  this  season.  Could  you  refuse  an  offer 
like  that?" 

"It  seems  so,"  he  replied,  indifferently.  "You 
see,  he  mentions  the  woman  they  want  it  for,  and, 
well  —  she  would  not  fit  the  part,  not  anything  near 
it — and  —  and  that's  all." 

She  knew  him  so  well,  so  well,  and  she  stood  by 
him  in  silence  while  he  moved  some  of  the  papers 
about  restlessly  and  turned  away  his  face  that  she 
might  not  see  the  color  flaming  over  him  at  her 
scrutiny. 

"So,"  she  said,  at  last,  "all  my  help  to  you  in  your 
work  amounts  to  this  —  that  you  are  throwing  away 
the  greatest  success  your  work  could  have  because  of 
me!" 

"Monica!" 

"  That  is  what  you  are  doing,"  she  insisted  steadily. 
"You  are  afraid  I  will  be  hurt.  You  never  mention 
that  story  any  more.  Don't  you  know,  your  very 
avoidance  of  it  tells  me  why?  It  is  your  masterpiece, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  373 

it  is  a  thing  any  writer  could  be  proud  of;  yet  you 
would  bury  it,  and  bury  all  discussion  of  it  if  you 
could,  because  —  oh,  Lane  —  because  a  woman  of  the 
twilight  is  the  mother  of  your  son ! " 

"Oh,  good  God!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  to  his 
idet  and  beginning  to  pace  the  floor  back  and  forth 
wildly.  "  Monica,  don't  say  that  again  —  stop  it,  I  tell 
you,  stop  it!  This  morbid  analysis  of  every  word, 
every  thought,  would  drive  one  mad !  Why  can't  you 
forget,  and  —  be  happy?" 

She  did  not  answer  except  by  an  eloquent  gesture 
towards  the  room  of  their  sleeping  child. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  Assented,  pitifully,  as  he  caught  her 
hand  and  pressed  it  between  his  own;  "I  know,  I 
comprehend,  else  I  could  not  have  lived  through  the 
days  of  your  self-torture." 

"  Self-torture !  "  she  repeated,  wistfully.  "  Lane, 
should  all  the  penalties  for  transgressions  of  parents 
be  visited  on  children?  The  remembrance  of  that 
other  poor  child,  Hettie  —  oh — " 

"  Don't  mention  that  girl's  name  to  me ! "  he  com 
manded.  "  Your  life  has  had  the  very  despair  of  hell 
in  it  ever  since  that  day.  A  smile  only  when  you  for 
get  for  a  moment,  a  laugh  never  any  more !  Monica," 
and  he  held  her  close  in  his  arms,  searching  her  face 
with  tender  eyes,  "can't  you  be  a  little  patient?  Can't 
you  be  content  with  the  happiness  which  is  ours  ?  We 
are  together,  and  we  have  our  child." 

"  Oh,  Lane ! "   she  whispered,   as  a   remembrance 


374  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

came  to  her,  and  a  look  of  fear  grew  in  her  eyes,  deep 
ening  there  while  her  hands  gripped  his  in  terror, 
"last  night  I  dreamed  we  did  not  have  each  other, 
and  —  our  boy  was  lost  —  somewhere!  I  seemed  to 
be  searching  for  him  through  years,  and  years  —  and 
years,  in  some  gray  world  of  dusk  where  the  sun  never 
shone!" 

"  Monica ! "  he  said,  pleadingly,  but  she  clung  to 
him  trembling. 

"  It  all  comes  back  to  me,"  she  persisted,  "  and,  oh 
Lane  —  it  was  a  horrible  dream!  I  groped  for  your 
hand  in  the  darkness,  but  you  were  not  there.  I  ran 
screaming  for  you  in  that  awful  gloom  —  and  there 
was  a  gray  ship  in  the  far  mists,  going  out  to  sea.  I 
stood  on  the  edge  of  a  gray  world  and  called,  and 
called  —  but  no  voice  came  back!  I  was  all  alone  in 
that  shadow  world  —  utterly  alone!" 

She  sank  down  into  the  chair,  her  face  covered 
by  her  hands,  while  he  stood  looking  down  upon  her, 
startled  and  perplexed,  wita  some  chord  of  memory 
vaguely  thrilled  —  a  gray  ship  going  out  in  the  gray 
sea,  and  the  mists  at  the  edge  of  the  land  rolling 
between  like  drifting  wraiths. 

The  words  of  a  letter  came  back  to  him*  "the 
dream  seems  to  belong  to  you  —  so  I  send  it." 

"Monica,"  and  his  tones  were  tender  with  the 
weight  of  his  love  and  his  pity,  "  it  will  never  be  that 
I  sail  out  from  any  shore  of  any  world  of  yours  — 
unless  you  send  me !  Even  then,"  and  he  gathered  her 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  375 

in  his  arms  fondly,  "  I  will  come  back  if  ever  you  give 
me  half  a  chance." 

"I  know,  Lane,  and  you  are  wonderful  —  so  won 
derful  to  me!"  she  confessed;  "but  your  very  pa 
tience  shows  me  how  very  terrible  the  situation  would 
be  if  robbed  of  it.  And,  dear,  all  your  patience  and 
all  your  love  cannot  lift  the  shadow  we  live  and  breathe 
in  always  —  and  that  dream — " 

"  It  is  morbid  waking  thoughts  from  which  such 
dreams  come,"  he  said,  reassuringly,  "and  the  mor 
bid  thoughts  will  soon  have  nothing  left  to  feed  upon. 
Now  that  he  is  better,  we  must  arrange  that  I  go  North 
the  first  day  possible.  The  danger  to  you  is  doubled 
so  long  as  I  am  here." 

"I  know,  I  waken  in  the  night  terror-stricken 
sometimes  at  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  if  — 
his  lawyers — " 

She  halted  uncertainly,  and  he  drew  her  to  him 
with  a  sharp,  decisive  movement  of  protection. 

"Yes,  dear,  we  are  both  haunted  by  the  same 
fears,"  he  confessed.  "Today  near  the  village  I  al 
most  had  heart  failure  at  sight  of  some  fox  hunters 
a  half  mile  across  the  fields.  There  was  not  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  that  any  of  them  would  know 
me  —  which  did  not  prevent  me  from  riding  in  the 
pine  woods  all  the  way  home." 

"I  know,"  she  assented  softly.  "By  next  week  I 
can  let  you  go  —  next  week,  when  he  i  ^  entirely  well ! " 

Together  they  went  up  to  the  door  of  their  child's 


376  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

room  and  looked  in.  He  was  sleeping,  with  Rosa 
hovering  over  him  fondly.  Monica  held  up  a  warn 
ing  finger  to  Sargent. 

"You  might  wake  him,'*  she  said,  and  halted  him 
there  while  she  slipped  inside  and  dropped  down  on 
her  knees  by  the  bed  in  the  shadowy  room,  the  very 
picture  of  adoring  motherhood. 

Sargent  turned  back  to  the  desk,  gathering  up  the 
envelopes  and  wrappers,  every  scrap  on  which  his 
name  was  visible.  As  he  opened  a  paper  he  had  over 
looked,  a  letter  fell  at  his  feet.  It  had  slipped  under 
the  edge  of  the  wrapper. 

As  he  opened  it,  Maum  Rosa  came  from  the  child's 
room,  looking  back  in  a  helpless,  worried  way,  and 
moved  towards  him  as  if  for  confidential  speech,  but 
he  brushed  past  her,  and  tapped  at  the  door  guard 
edly,  yet  imperative. 

Monica,  surprised,  came  out  of  the  room;  her  fin 
ger  was  on  her  lips  for  silence. 

"Still  sleeping,"  she  whispered  warningly.  "What 
is  it,  dear?" 

UA  letter,  read  it.  You  see,  my  dread  was  not 
without  cause." 

She  took  the  letter  wonderingly,  but  only  read  a 
portion,  when  she  turned  to  him  in  amaze. 

uAn  invitation  to  a  house  party  at  Oakland,  this 
state?" 

"Not  only  t*iis  state,  but  in  the  adjoining  county, 
and  the  county  line  is  within  a  few  rods  of  your  north 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  377 

woods ! "  and  his  anxiety  was  beyond  any  pretense  of 
control.  "You  remember  —  the  place  Gilman  inher 
ited!  This  has  been  forwarded,  it  is  ten  days  old." 

"Oakland,"  she  repeated,  and  she  grew  pale  as 
their  eyes  met.  "Why,  it  must  be  the  old  Waldron 
place,  only  four  miles  away!  Lane,  I  am  afraid, 
afraid!  You  must  go!" 

"And  leave  you?" 

'You  must!  Maum  Rosa  can  help  me  keep  our 
secret  if  we  are  alone,  but  no  one  could  help  me  if 
you  were  ever  seen  here.  Oh,  go,  Lane,  go  at  once !  " 

"Rosa,  my  watch!" 

Rosa  came  from  the  child's  room,  her  face  ashen 
with  terror,  and  she  touched  Sargent's  arm  in  timid, 
mute  appeal,  which  he  did  not  observe.  His  eyes  and 
thoughts  were  only  for  the  woman  whose  face  of 
dread  made  his  heart  ache. 

"Listen,  dear,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  watch, 
"  the  down  boat  passes  in  an  hour.  I  can  go  on  that. 
God ! "  he  muttered,  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  hold 
ing  her  close,  close  in  a  sort  of  fierce  resentment 
against  the  fate  of  things,  "  to  think  that  the  only  way 
I  dare  protect  you  is  by  —  deserting  you!  Monica, 
Monica ! " 

"You  must  go,  Lane,  you  must  go!"  she  whis 
pered,  with  pale  lips. 

"Yes,"  he  assented;  "Rosa,  tell  Jim  to  get  my 
suitcase  to  the  landing,  and  have  his  canoe  ready  to 
hail  the  boat.  Warn  him  to  avoid  strangers  if  any 


378  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

should  pass  —  and  to  take  to  the  woods  rather  than 
answer  a  question." 

uYes,  sir,  you  all  can  trust  Jim,"  asserted  Maum 
Rosa,  confidently — ubut" — and  she  glanced  warn- 
ingly  at  her  mistress — "you  can't  go  now,  sir  —  not 
just  yet!  Oh  —  Miss  Mona — " 

"Maum  Rosa,  he  has  to  go,  insisted  Monica. 
u  Don't  be  so  frightened,  you  dear  old  soul!  We  will 
get  along,  now  that  baby  is  better.  How  awful  if  he 
had  not  been,"  she  added,  looking  at  him  with  wide, 
frightened  eyes  —  "  for  you  would  have  to  go  just  the 
same  I  I  will  tell  Jim  what  to  do." 

Rosa  watched  her  go  out,  and  closed  the  door  care 
fully  after  her  before  she  turned  her  agitated  old  face 
to  Sargent. 

"Mr.  Lane,"  she  half  whispered,  ayou  can't  go 
now!  You  got  to  break  the  truth  to  her,  and  you 
can't  go!" 

"The  truth?" 

She  nodded  her  head  and  pointed  towards  the  room 
of  the  sleeping  child. 

"Why,"  and  Sargent  stared  at  her,  bewildered,  "he 
is  better,  the  doctor  said — " 

"Mr.  Lane,  the  doctor  said  he  maybe  needn't  come 
back  again.  He  didn't  have  the  heart  to  tell  her  the 
truth,  she  was  so  happy  'cause  her  baby  was  jest  a- 
sleepin'." 

"Then-  that  sleep?" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  379 

"Never  wake  up  no  more,  Mr.  Lane,  never  wake 
up  no  more !  " 

"You  mean—" 

"No,  not  yet,  but  each  breath  is  a  little  lower  —  an' 
a  little  lower.  You  won't  go  now?" 

"  Of  course  I  shall  not  go."  He  entered  the  room 
softly,  and  bent  over  the  little  mite  of  waxen  human 
ity.  He  could  see  nothing  new  or  strange  in  its  con 
dition,  yet  old  Rosa  was  wise  in  most  things. 

"You  are  sure,  Maum  Rosa?"  he  asked,  as  he 
stooped  to  kiss  the  tiny  little  hand. 

"I  been  a-countin'  each  breath,  Mr.  Lane,  I'm 
sure!" 

"  Don't  leave  him,"  he  said,  lowly,  as  he  went  out 
to  meet  Monica,  who  carried  his  ulster  and  hat. 

"  Oh !  that  blessed  boat !  "  she  breathed,  with  a  grate 
ful  sigh.  "  I  should  be  wild  if  you  had  to  wait  until 
tomorrow  —  I  never  did  think  I  could  be  so  glad  to 
get  rid  of  you !  " 

He  took  the  things  she  carried  and  put  them  aside. 

"Never  mind  those,"  he  said,  looking  down  into 
her  brave,  eager  eyes,  and  wondering  how  he  dared 
bring  further  pain  to  her. 

"Never  mind?"  she  repeated,  wonderingly. 

"I  mean  —  we  have  a  full  hour  before  the  boat 
reaches  this  point.  Come  here,  I  was  thinking  of  what 
you  said  —  that  I  would  have  to  go,  no  matter  how 
it  was  with  —  with  him  !  " 

She  nodded  her  head  sadly,  and  did  not  speak. 


380  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"But  listen,  dear:  a  year  ago  we  two  were  here 
alone.  All  the  world  was  very  far  away,  but  we  never 
missed  it.  Suppose  the  day  comes  when  we  again  will 
be  only  two? " 

"  What  a  question ! "  her  brows  were  wrinkled  in 
perplexity,  "  and  why?" 

"The  time  is  so  short,  dear,  so  very  short!" 

"  But  you  said  there  was  a  full  hour  before  the 
boat  comes  down,  and  you  are  nervous!"  she  said, 
holding  his  hand  between  both  her  own,  "  actually 
nervous,  after  a  whole  year,  at  the  thought  of  parting! 
You  do  care  for  me  —  so  much?" 

"So  much  that  love  is  a  torture  today!"  he  burst 
out,  vehemently.  "  Oh,  answer  me !  If  we  had  life 
to  begin  again  —  we  two  alone?" 

"Don't  ask  me,  Lane!  Forget  those  morbid 
thoughts  of  what  life  would  be  without  him.  I  can 
see  only  that  gray  world  of  the  dream,  it  comes  back  — 
comes  back! " 

"  I  would  be  there,  close  beside  you,  all  our  lives," 
he  insisted;  but  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  so 
strangely  that  his  arms  unclasped  from  about  her  as  he 
demanded,  "What  do  you  mean,  Monica?" 

"  In  the  gray  world  of  the  dream  you  were  not 
beside  me,"  she  said,  in  a  colorless  tone,  horrible  to 
him.  "  I  was  groping  onward  alone,  years,  and  years 
—  and  years! " 

"  But  this  is  not  a  world  of  dreams,  it  is  our  world 
of  love!"  and  again  he  held  her  close  and  lifted  her 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  381 

face,  that  he  could  look  in  her  eyes.  "What  madness 
is  in  you  that  you  look  and  speak  like  that  ever  since 
his  life  was  despaired  of,  tell  me!" 

She  could  not  meet  his  gaze,  and  broke  away  from 
him,  white  and  trembling. 

"  Oh,  Lane,  don't  ask  me,  don't  ask  me !  we  might 
both  regret — " 

"You  are  afraid  of  telling  me  some  truth!"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  sudden  insight,  as  he  followed  her  to  the 
closed  door  and  caught  her  to  him  half  fiercely. 
"What  is  it,  Monica,  what  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  Lane,  let  me  go !  It  was  only  if  he  had  not- 
recovered,  but  he  has,  oh — " 

"But  if  he  had  not  —  if  he  does  not?" 

"Oh  — Lane!" 

"Answer  me!"  he  commanded. 

"Lane,  I  beg  of  you — " 

"  I  want  the  truth,"  he  said,  grimly.  "  If  he  had 
died,  what  did  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

And  her  voice  was  very  low,  very  steady,  as  she 
answered : 

"  Part  from  you  forever." 

He  released  her  then,  and  stepped  back,  regarding 
her  in  shocked  silence. 

"  I  know,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  low,  even  tone, 
"you  will  not  understand.  You  are  a  man,  and  you 
think  of  it  for  the  first  time.  I  have  thought  of  little 
else  for  months;  but  only  a  woman  would  know  what 
the  thoughts  were." 


382  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

He  seemed  not  to  hear.  The  one  big  fact  was  all 
he  could  grasp,  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  The  love  of  a  year,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  and  this  is 
the  end!" 

"The  love  of  a  life,  you  know  it!" 

"And  you  would  prove  it  by  leaving  me?" 

'Yes,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head  and  looking  at 
him  for  the  first  time,  "  I  would  never  again  go 
through  the  mental  torture  I  have  endured  this  one 
year.  It  is  not  fair  to  the  child  or  to  me.  I  would 
never  again  risk  bringing  the  supreme  social  curse 
against  a  child  of  mine.  If  I  could  bear  all  the  penalty 
myself?  —  yes!  and  never  flinch  from  anything  but  the 
fear  of  losing  your  love;  but  not  when  each  blow  from 
the  world  strikes  the  child  in  my  arms ! " 

"  Monica !  This  is  folly,  madness !  You  are  to  be 
— you  are  —  my  wife!" 

Again  she  regarded  him  with  that  still,  strange  look, 
and  her  smile  hurt  him  more  than  tears,  as  she  asked: 

"Will  you  introduce  me  to  your  mother  with  only 
our  child  as  a  certificate  of  marriage?" 

u  Monica ! " 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  quietly,  "  you  have  the  same 
conventional  prejudice  by  which  our  child  is  put  under 
a  ban.  I  feel  differently.  I  feel  only  disgraced  by  the 
secrecy.  We  have  hidden  our  love  like  criminals  until 
the  love  itself  has  become  almost  criminal  in  our  own 
feelings !  "  He  attempted  to  speak,  but  she  shook  her 
head.  "Don't  attempt  to  deny  it,  Lane!  I  feel  that 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  383 

it  is  so,  and  that  any  sensitive  woman  would  feel  the 
same.  If  I  go  now  beside  you  into  the  world,  do  you 
know  how  I  shall  feel?  —  that  I  am  a  woman  of  the 
twilight,  smuggled  in  on  false  pretense,  and  that  you 
will  live  in  dread  lest  it  be  discovered !  Only  the  face 
of  our  boy,  close  beside  me,  could  help  me  endure  that. 
Oh,  Lane,  I  meant  to  be  everything  to  you,  yet  —  I 
have  only  tortured  you  because  I,  myself,  became  so 
wretched!" 

"Half  your  misery  is  from  imagination,11  he  pro 
tested. 

"  I  know  it.  My  imagination  slept  until  I  was  con 
scious  of  a  wrong  against  a  helpless  child;  I,  who  had 
prided  myself  on  my  sense  of  justice,  and  ridiculed 
cowardly  people  who  transgress  laws  and  pity  them 
selves  and  blame  circumstances  and  invent  a  Power  to 
forgive  their  errors !  I  can't  do  that.  I  have  been  my 
own  good  and  my  own  evil  angel,  and  when  I  trans 
gress  I  can  be  my  own  judge.  I  can't  ask  forgiveness, 
it  is  an  empty  word  to  me.  I  shall  atone  to  our  child 
by  a  life  of  devotion;  but — if  he  had  died,  I  should 
have  atoned  to  you  in  a  very  different  way.  I  should 
no  longer  help  you  condone  secret  love,  or  hear  you 
make  excuses  for  courtesans  because  the  world  would 
rank  me  as  their  sister." 

"How  dare  you — " 

"  Oh  —  I  told  you  I  dare  be  my  own  judge !  Lane," 
and  her  tones  were  suddenly  tender,  "  our  ideal  of  love 
was  perfect,  but  we  chose  the  wrong  path  to  walk  to 


384  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

it —  and  our  very  hearts  have  been  pierced  by  the 
thorns  on  the  way." 

He  stood  looking  down  upon  her,  the  victim  of  his 
happiness,  knowing  so  well  —  too  well  —  that  all  his 
love  could  not  shield  her  from  the  scourges  of  her  own 
remorse.  He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  her 
gently  but  decidedly  up  into  his  arms. 

"  Monica,  you  must  forget  all  this,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "  It  is  the  madness  of  a  super-sensitive 
woman.  You  fancy  you  have  lowered  my  ideals,"  he 
nodded,  silently;  "never  mention  that  fancy  again. 
There  might  be  a  limit  to  even  my  patience  with  your 
moods." 

"I  know  it,"  she  assented,  "there  would  be;  that 
is  as  natural  a  consequence  of  the  moods  as  the  moods 
are  a  consequence  of  my  mistakes." 

"  Our  mistakes,"  he  corrected,  "  and  we  will  remedy 
them." 

'You  mean  —  we  will  cover  them!"  she  rejoined; 
"but,"  and  she  touched  her  breast,  "here,  Lane,  is  a 
record  that  will  not  be  covered  up !  And  when  there 
are  children,  the  record  will  not  even  die  with  our 
deaths." 

"  Children ;  Oh,  God !  "  he  whispered,  as  he  held  her 
close  and  pressed  tender,  pitiful  kisses  on  her  upturned 
face.  "  Monica,  Monica !  My  heart  aches  for  you  — 
I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,  but — " 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  putting  her  fingers  suddenly  on 
his  lips.  "  Listen !  Do  you  not  hear  ?  " 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  385 

The  window  was  open  into  the  garden,  and  he  could 
only  hear  the  wind  sighing  through  a  great  pine  there, 
but  her  ears,  trained  to  the  slightest  sigh  of  a  sleepless 
babe,  were  keener  far. 

"Horses,  more  than  one,"  she  whispered,  "and — 
voices ! " 

A  note  of  laughter  came  to  them  through  the  open 
window,  laughter  gay  and  high  and  —  familiar! 

He  held  her  in  his  arms,  close,  close,  while  their 
hearts  seemed  to  cease  beating  that  they  might  listen. 

Then,  with  a  mute  appeal  for  release,  she  slipped 
away  from  him  to  a  window  in  the  alcove,  between  the 
parlor  and  the  dining  room. 

A  voice  came  to  them  —  sweet  and  clear  through 
the  autumn  air. 

"  I  certainly  shall,  why  not?  It  may  be  only  water, 
and  then  it  might  be  fresh  cider  —  there  is  an 
orchard!" 

"Nell!"  whispered  Monica,  as  she  picked  up  the 
ulster  and  fairly  thrust  it  into  his  arms.  "Here, 
quickly,  through  the  garden  to  the  river!  The  hedge 
will  hide  you  from  the  road ! " 

"  Monica,  I  can't  leave  you  now ! "  he  protested. 
"You  don't  know—" 

"I  know  the  only  way  you  can  protect  me  is  by 
leaving  me,"  she  interrupted.  "Good-by — kiss  me 
first!" 

"Monica!"  he  whispered,  in  final  appeal,  but  she 
put  her  finger  on  his  lips  and  went  with  him  stealthily 


386  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

into  the  garden,  as  the  knocker  of  the  door  sent  an 
alarming  clamor  through  the  house. 

Maum  Rosa,  startled,  came  from  the  inner  room  as 
Monica  entered  from  the  garden,  closing  the  door  back 
of  her,  breathless  and  intent  on  every  sound. 

"  Miss  Mona ! "  and  the  voice  of  Maum  Rosa  was 
almost  a  wail  of  protest.  "He  ain't  left  you,  now?" 

"Don't  you  hear?"  demanded  her  mistress,  point 
ing  to  the  door;  "his  friends  and  mine.  I  will  have 
to  see  them." 

"But — "  and  the  distress  and  bewilderment  in  the 
old  face  was  pitiful,  "with  your  baby — " 

"You  must  help  me,  and  they  must  never  guess!" 
Monica's  tones  were  a  command  and  admitted  of  no 
discussion.  She  moved  to  the  door  of  the  sleeping 
child  and  looked  in,  smiling. 

"Poor  little  sleepy  man  —  left  all  alone!"  she 
murmured,  "but  it  shan't  be  long,  dearie!"  Then 
she  closed  the  door,  softly.  "You  may  let  them  in 
now,  Rosa;  and — if  he  should  awake  —  if  there 
should  be  the  least  sound  there,  lift  him  carefully  and 
carry  him  out  along  the  veranda  into  Jim's  quarters. 
It  won't  be  for  long.  Let  them  in  now." 

"Oh,  Miss  Mona!"  whispered  the  old  woman,  as 
the  knocker  again  sounded  through  the  house. 

"Maum  Rosa,  don't  you  hear  me?" 

And  Maum  Rosa  went  through  the  hall,  dazed, 
trembling,  and  muttering  over  and  over:  "My  Lord, 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  387 

he  ain't  never  told  her!  My  Lord,  he  ain't  never 
told  her!" 

Monica  glanced  about  hurriedly,  covered  the  work 
basket,  and  closed  the  desk,  as  Mrs.  Allen  entered, 
tempestuously. 

"Well!  of  all  things  unexpected!"  she  exclaimed, 
embracing  Monica  and  staring  round-eyed  about  her. 
"If  this  Isn't  luck!" 

"Why  unexpected?    Didn't  you  come  to  see  me?" 

"  Come  to  see  you !  We  did  not  suppose  you  were 
nearer  than  Mexico !  My  horse  went  lame ;  we  sent  a 
man  back  for  another  and  walked  across  the  fields  to 
this  road.  I  was  consumed  by  thirst,  and  halted  to  ask 
for  a  drink  of  anything,  even  water  —  and  there  was 
Maum  Rosa!" 

"You  are  not  alone?"  asked  Monica. 

"Alone,  good  gracious,  no!  It  is  Gillie's  house- 
warming  party.  Nanny  is  here,  and  Fan,  and  Lulu; 
but  Lulu  and  Joe  get  lost  from  the  bunch  quite  a  ways 
back.  You  were  invited !  " 

"I  think  not.  You  see  —  I  have  been  rather  a  bit 
of  driftwood,  and  not  in  touch  with  friends  to  any 
great  extent." 

"Well,  I  know  an  invitation  was  sent  you,  care  of 
some  art  club,"  asserted  Mrs.  Allen.  "  But  I  must  go 
and  tell  the  others  or  they  will  all  hate  me!" 

"  Certainly,  tell  them,"  suggested  Monica,  as  Nell 
fluttered  out  again  along  the  hall,  and  then  she  turned 


388  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

to  the  frightened  Rosa.  "  Can't  you  find  something 
more  refreshing  than  water,  Maum  Rosa?  Make 
anything  for  them,"  she  insisted.  "  Do  anything  — 
get  them  all  in  before  the  boat  comes  down  1 " 

She  gave  Rosa  no  time  to  reply,  but  followed  Nell  to 
the  entrance,  where  she  was  joyously  greeted  by  a 
group,  known  and  unknown  friends  of  Oilman's,  who 
were  exclaiming  over  the  beauty  of  the  old  dwelling, 
the  latticed  windows,  the  wealth  of  rose  vines,  and  the 
backing  of  giant  cedars  and  moss-draped  cypress 
trees. 

They  came  in  gladly,  filling  her  little  parlor  and 
library  and  venturing  out  on  the  veranda.  Tony  and 
Nanny  Allen  found  the  old  piano  in  the  alcove  and 
proceeded  to  try  it,  and  the  whole  place  was  trans 
formed  by  a  busy,  chatty  group,  suggesting  Manhattan 
much  more  than  the  piney  woods  of  Georgia. 

"The  fact  is,"  confided  Oilman,  "you  are  a  god 
send,  Madame  Monica !  It  is  not  so  easy  as  one  might 
fancy  to  find  amusement  in  the  country  for  a  group  of 
people  accustomed  to  the  news  of  Gotham  at  their 
breakfast  table.  You  see,  I'm  so  new  I  don't  even 
know  the  county  roads,  and  you're  a  native,  aren't 
you?" 

"So  far  as  birth  makes  me  so,  yes;  but  I  know  the 
land  almost  as  little  as  you.  In  fact,"  she  added,  "  I 
have  come  here  only  at  long  intervals  when  I  wanted 
absolute  retreat,  and  I  slip  away  again  before  the  peo- 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  389 

pie  of  the  region  know  I  am  here.  My  mother's  fam 
ily  are  all  gone,  and  I  have  made  no  acquaintances. 
I  can't  help  you  even  a  little  bit.n 

"  But  let  me  send  a  carriage  for  you  this  evening — 
join  our  party!  "  he  pleaded. 

"Not  possible  now,"  she  said,  smilingly;  "you  are 
a  few  days  too  late.  I  must  leave  for  the  north  the 
first  boat  I  —  can  get  ready  for.  The  little  steamers 
are  my  only  means  of  reaching  a  railroad  from  here. 
It  is  much  more  isolated  than  your  big  plantation." 

"It's  ideal!"  decided  Gilman.  "It  beats  my  place 
—  in  fact,  it  is  almost  romantic.  How  ideally  restful 
to  live  where  railroads  are  unknown,  and  the  steam 
whistles  of  commerce  never  penetrate !  " 

"  Boats  have  whistles,  and  bells,  too,"  reminded 
Mrs.  Allen.  "  I  heard  a  whistle  across  here  before  my 
horse  went  lame.  Was  that  at  your  landing?" 

Rosa,  who  was  offering  glasses  of  lemonade  and 
slices  of  cake  to  the  ladies,  almost  let  fall  the  tray  at  the 
question.  Her  mistress  caught  the  silver  cake  basket, 
and  steadied  the  old  woman  with  a  look. 

"  It  might  have  been  here,"  she  replied.  "  There 
are  several  points  where  they  can  run  in,  but  no  wharf 
or  regular  stopping  places." 

From  a  window  looking  across  the  hedge  to  the 
grass-grown,  old  road,  Tony  Allen  turned  with  a  long 
whistle  and  upraised  hands. 

"Stop  —  pause  —  and  listen!"  he  admonished  them. 


39°  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

u  The  lost  is  found !  The  wanderer  has  wandered 
along  the  river  trail  and  is  wondering  now  how  we 
all  happened  to  be  waiting  for  him  here ! " 

"Tony,  you  get  crazier  every  minute,"  remarked 
Tony's  wife  between  bites  of  cake.  "What  are  you 
sing-songing  about?" 

"Lane  Sargent,  the  lagging  guest,"  he  stated, 
promptly.  "  Some  of  the  boys  have  been  down  to  the 
landing  and  there  they  come  with  him." 

"  Tony,  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"No  mistake  about  it,"  called  Oilman,  jubilantly, 
from  the  window.  "There  he  is,  the  boys  carrying 
his  traps." 

"How  strange,"  murmured  Monica  to  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville.  "  Did  your  party  expect  him  to  come 
by  this  slow  route?" 

"  I  understood  that  the  invitation  was  not  even 
acknowledged,"  replied  that  lady;  "but  it  is  an  inter 
esting  coincidence,  good  enough  for  your  note-book, 
Mr.  Oilman." 

"  Monica,  let  me  call  him  in,"  suggested  Nell,  and, 
as  there  was  a  slight  hesitation,  she  slipped  her  arm 
around  Monica's  waist.  "  Oh,  I  know  you  never  cared 
to  have  him  around,"  she  half  whispered  that  the 
others  might  not  hear,  "but  he  really  is  a  splendid 
fellow;  do  let  me." 

"Why  —  certainly,"  said  Monica  at  last,  and  the 
long  sigh  seemed  to  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  who  was 
watching  her,  to  be  one  of  utter  weariness  or  extreme 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  391 

boredom.  It  was  really  almost  rude  to  everyone  con 
cerned.  She  never  could  understand  how  the  Tony 
Aliens  were  so  devoted  to  a  woman  who  so  seldom 
exerted  herself  to  be  agreeable. 

While  the  others  had  gone  to  the  windows,  or 
followed  Nell,  Monica  walked  to  the  window  seat 
nearest  the  closed  door,  where  her  very  heart  seemed 
centered.  She  had  for  a  moment  a  wave  of  faintness 
come  over  her,  and  through  it  the  gay,  laughing  visitors 
seemed  as  faraway,  shadowy  people,  and  the  only 
real  thing  was  what  the  door  guarded  —  the  closed 
door  which  she  must  not  leave  —  the  closed  door! 

A  sharp  fear  drove  away  the  faintness,  the  fear  of 
slipping  into  unconsciousness  there  and  leaving  no  one 
on  guard  —  no  one  to  — 

"Monica!"  and  Nell  whirled  back  into  the  hall, 
"  that  laggard  appears  absolutely  unwilling  to  intrude 
so  unceremoniously;  pleads  dust  and  general  unfitness. 
Now,  how  could  one  be  dusty  on  a  river  trip?  7 
think,"  and  she  lowered  her  voice,  discreetly,  "that 
he  imagines  you  still  retain  that  silly  antipathy  you 
used  to  show  occasionally.  Do  you?" 

"How  absurd,  Nell!  I  simply  knew  the  man  was 
not  going  to  be  my  cousin,  so  —  I — " 

She  ended  with  a  slight  upward  smile,  and  allowed 
Nell  to  interrupt  her  by  a  characteristic  shake  of  her 
shoulder. 

"  Oh,  you  wise  one !  "  she  taunted.  "  May  I  say  you 
insist?" 


392  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"Any  reasonable  thing  to  please  you,  dear,"  agreed 
Monica,  and  wondered  —  wondered  that  none  of  them 
read  in  her  tones  or  her  face  that  their  laughter 
sounded  as  from  outside  of  her  world.  They  seemed 
to  belong  all  together,  and  at  times  so  far  away  that 
great  stretches  of  space  whirled  between.  She  thought 
of  the  great  curve  of  the  wave  under  which  she  had 
once  been  drawn  —  and  from  which  he  had  brought 
her  safe.  What  could  he  do  for  her  now? 

At  the  window  Nell  was  calling  to  Sargent  that 
Monica  insisted  that  he  come  in,  and  he  lifted  his  cap 
and  nodded  assent,  though  halted  to  shake  hands  with 
Lulu  and  Joe,  who  had  just  ridden  up.  There  were 
shouts  of  joy  and  incredulity  as  they  dismounted  and 
caught  hold  of  him. 

At  the  window  of  the  dining  room  Tony  Allen 
stood  for  a  moment  beside  his  wife. 

"  I  did  not  hear  her  insisting,  Nell,"  he  remarked. 
"To  tell  the  truth  I  wish  the  trap  would  come.  She 
doesn't  look  exactly  well  to  me,  and  even  an  extra 
unexpected  guest — " 

"Silly!  She  was  always  rather  pale,  you  know, 
and  as  to  Lane  —  he  was  half  in  love  with  her  in  New 
York — and  more  than  half  afraid  of  her!" 

"Then  why  encourage — ?" 

"  Encourage !  Oh,  she  always  snubbed  him  and  sent 
him  about  his  business;  quite  right,  of  course,  but  we 
want  to  see  if  a  year  of  separation  has  worn  out  his 
fancy!" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  393 

"We,  who?" 

"Fan  and  I." 

"Oh,  you  girls,"  murmured  Tony,  leaving  her  to 
join  Monica  and  Gilman,  as  Lulu  ran  in  breathless 
and  excited. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  dearest  Monica!  Isn't  this  the 
most  wonderful  ever?  And  here  is  Mr.  Sargent.  We 
found  him  in  the  road,  and  Joe  is  coming,  oh — " 

Her  delight  was  expressed  in  a  final  hug,  and,  thus 
embraced,  Monica  offered  her  one  free  hand  to 
McLane  Sargent  in  her  usual,  cool,  sweet  manner. 

"  My  little  camp  is  especially  favored  today,"  she 
remarked.  "  It  is  wonderful  that  Mr.  Gilman  and  I 
never  chanced  to  learn  that  our  garden  patches  were 
in  the  same  region! " 

"Now,  my  boy,"  declared  Gilman,  after  shaking 
hands  with  his  latest  guest,  "I  have  not  asked  you  a 
question,  but  this  coincidence  goes  on  record — it's 
unique.  We  thought  Madam  Monica  on  some  foreign 
shore  —  a  horse  goes  lame,  and  we  hobble  across  some 
fields  to  discover  a  cottage  in  the  grove,  and  the  lady 
in  her  own  ingle  nook!  I  send  a  letter  to  you,  and 
instead  of  following  my  directions  as  to  transporta 
tion,  you  conclude  to  try  the  primitive  river  way,  get 
a  bit  bungled  as  to  the  landing — a  five-mile  bungle  — 
and  are  suddenly  surrounded  by  the  friends  you  meant 
to  surprise!  How  is  that  for  coincidence  —  and 
insight?" 

"  Remarkable,"  agreed  Sargent,  as  Gilman  indus- 


394  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

triously  made  notes  in  one  of  his  ever  ready  books. 
"  I  wonder  that  phrenologist  did  not  disclose  the  fact 
that  you  were  gifted  with  second  sight." 

"  Lulu !  "  said  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville,  reprovingly, 
"you  are  not  to  go  out  of  sight  of  the  rest  when  you 
next  accompany  the  riding  party.  Mr.  Oilman  was 
quite  disturbed  about  you." 

"But  we  were  only  lost  for  an  hour  or  so,  and — " 
she  added,  slipping  her  hand  into  Sargent's.  "  I  want 
to  tell  Mr.  Sargent  all  about  it." 

"  Don't  monopolize  him,"  suggested  her  stepmother; 
"he  has  scarcely  had  time  to  greet  all  his  friends." 

But  Lulu  held  to  Sargent's  hand  until  Mrs.  Smythe- 
Orville  had  followed  Nell  into  the  alcove,  where 
Nanny  Allen  was  playing  old-time  airs  softly,  and  as 
Monica  was  about  to  join  them  the  girl  held  out  her 
other  hand,  appealingly. 

"Don't  go,"  she  whispered.  "I  —  I  want  to  tell 
you,  too.  You  and  Mr.  Sargent  were  our  very  best 
friends  and  we  '11  need  you  now  to  stand  by  us,  for  I 
have  something  to  surprise  you  —  Joe!" 

After  shaking  hands  with  Monica,  Joe  had  sat  qui 
etly  at  the  window,  but  turned  at  the  call,  smiling 
dubiously. 

"Oh,  Joe  is  in  it,  is  he?"  asked  Monica. 

"Rather!  he  is  It!  —  my  surprise." 

The  two  young  things  stood,  half  shy,  and  wholly 
proud,  facing  the  man  and  woman  whom  they  had 
trusted  most,  and  the  woman's  eyes  were  touched  by 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  395 

quick  tears  as  she  drew  the  girl  to  her,  fondly.  Sar 
gent  reached  his  hand  to  Joe,  and  the  young  lovers, 
glowing  in  their  own  joy,  did  not  even  note  the  silence 
of  the  two. 

"  It  is  lovely  to  be  able  to  tell  you  two  first  of  all 
(oh,  this  perfectly  wonderful  day!)  "  breathed  Lulu, 
"  for  your  advice  saved  us  from  something  very  fool 
ish  once.  The  laws  down  here  are  more  lenient  to 
elopers,  and  I  am  a  year  older,  and  so — " 

"  I  'm  going  to  tell  Oilman,"  announced  Joe. 

"Yes,  let's,"  agreed  Lulu.  "He  will  have  to 
break  it  to  mama  on  the  way  home." 

The  two  approached  the  window  to  reconnoiter 
from  that  point  of  vantage  the  group  in  the  alcove 
where  Nanny  was  playing  "Nellie  Gray"  and  Nell 
was  humming: 

Oh,  my  darling  Nellie  Gray, 

They  have  taken  you  away, 
And  I  '11  never  see  my  darling  any  more ; 
They  have  taken  her  to  Georgia 

To  wear  her  life  away  — 

Monica  slipped  into  a  chair  by  the  desk  as  the  two 
children  left  them  together.  Sargent's  face  was  set 
and  white  as  he  looked  down  on  her. 

"  Be  brave  a  little  longer,  a  very  little  longer,"  he 
muttered.  "Surely  they  must  go  soon,  but  —  those 
women  are  watching  you !  " 

She  straightened  in  her  chair,  and  Nell,  from  the 
alcove,  could  see  that  her  upturned  face  was  smiling  at 


396  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

him;  a  bit  of  the  old  mockery  was  in  the  smile,  and 
from  a  lower  shelf  of  the  desk  she  drew  out  a 
portfolio. 

"  Really,  you  are  too  modest,"  she  remarked.  "  It 
is  not  the  first  time  feminine  eyes  have  turned  your 
way,  nor  will  it  be  the  last.  But  since  you  are  here, 
would  you  care  to  look  at  some  of  my  late  sketches? 
I  don't  think  I  ever  inflicted  them  upon  you  in  the 
North.  That  is  a  pretty  cove  I  love  on  the  Pacific 
coast;  this  was  the  favorite  nook  of  a  friend  who 
was  with  me.  If  you  have  never  been  along  that 
southern  shore  you  should  certainly  go  —  it  is  delightful 
at  the  right  season.  And  these" — she  smiled  up  at 
him  again  as  she  removed  some  sketches  and  slipped 
them  in  a  drawer — "oh,  they  are  only  portrait 
sketches  of  the  same  friend.  It  is  perhaps  unwise  to 
sketch  always  from  the  same  model." 

"  Monica!" 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  warning  as  Nell,  and 
Tony,  and  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  approached,  and  he 
turned  to  them  with  one  of  the  drawings. 

"Charming,  are  they  not?" 

"They  certainly  are,"  decided  Nell.  "I  knew  you 
and  your  brushes  were  not  idle  wherever  you  were, 
though  I  must  say  you  look  as  if  you  need  a  holiday. 
Apropos  of  drawings,  Lane,  ever  find  your  ideal 
woman,  the  Twilight  artist?" 

"Still  looking  for  her,"  he  confessed. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  397 

"  Really?  That  the  reason  you  are  still  a  bachelor?  " 
"One  of  them.1*    Then  he  nodded  towards  Tony, 
who  was  asking  Monica  to  go  out  with  him  to  look  at 
a  new  saddle  horse.    "  Your  husband  is  the  other!  " 

"Oh,  very  pretty;  but,  Lane,  you  are  a  false 
pretense,"  she  retorted,  while  the  others  laughed,  and 
under  cover  of  their  gaiety  Monica  met  his  eyes  mean 
ingly  as  she  passed  him  with  Tony  going  to  the  alcove 
window.  He  walked  up  near  the  closed  door  and 
stood  looking  out  into  their  garden  of  dreams.  The 
irony  of  life  had  never  seemed  so  bitter,  or  the 
strength  of  mere  human  things  so  trivial  when  pitted 
against  the  fates. 

If  he  had  only  dared  open  that  door,  and  see  — 
Gilman  spoke  to  him  of  the  conveyance  to  the 
plantation.  A  cart  was  to  come  back  to  the  cross 
roads.  One  of  the  men  had  ridden  on  to  meet  it  and 
send  it  to  the  cotage ;  it  would  hold  his  suit  case,  and 
if  Sargent  would  drive  Mrs.  Allen  home  in  it — 

Nanny  was  playing  u  Dixie,"  while  some  of  the 
others  were  trying  to  sing  it,  and  again  he  found  him 
self  speaking  civilly  and  smiling  bitterly  at  the  horrible 
irony  of  it  all,  going  with  Nell  —  leaving  her  alone  in 
their  whirlpool  of  the  fates  —  and  driving  beside  Nell 
—  gay,  careless,  yet  worldly  wise  Nell  —  back  to  the 
social  joys  of  a  rollicking  housewarming  party!  He 
seemed  a  part  of  some  hideous  nightmare,  where  every 
horror  of  his  own  suffering  was  doubled  and  trebled 


398  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

by  the  agony  he  had  to  witness  in  her  heart,  the  wild 
despair  from  which  he  could  not  save  her  and  in  which 
he  dared  not  openly  share ! 

"I,  myself,  am  Heaven  and  Hell!"  The  old,  old 
words  of  Omar  came  to  him  with  a  new  meaning. 
Heaven!  Yes,  the  gods  themselves  had  nothing  to 
tempt  with  that  was  stronger,  deeper,  sweeter  than  the 
wild  love  they  had  known,  and  had  dared  to  claim  in 
their  own  way;  yes,  their  Heaven  had  been  theirs  for 
a  space,  and  now  — 

Were  the  gods  jealous  that  the  Hell  was  sent  so 
quickly  ? 

If  only  he  dared  know  what  was  going  on  behind 
that  closed  door!  Or  if  only  that  conveyance  would 
come  and  give  her  freedom  to  see  him  once  alive  —  if 
only  for  one  little,  little  minute!  He  seemed  to  live 
through  her  heartaches  of  all  the  future  years  if  it 
should  not  be  so. 

Gilman  was  still  talking  amiably  about  his  new 
plantation  and  his  new  plans,  and  Lulu  and  Joe  were 
lingering  near,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  confess  their 
latest  escapade  without  interrupting  his  monologue. 

At  last  Joe  edged  around  to  the  window  seat,  hold 
ing  Lulu's  hand,  brazenly,  and  Gilman  looked  over 
his  glasses  at  them,  questioning  and  sardonic. 

"  Ah,  our  lost  youth  on  the  one-eyed  nag!  Did  you 
get  her  blind  eye  to  the  road  and  lose  the  way?" 

"  Nope,"  and  Joe  handed  forth  a  folded  document 
slipped  to  him  by  Lulu. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  399 

"  I  rather  think,"  observed  Sargent,,  pointing  to  the 
paper,  uthat  he  got  on  the  blind  side  of  the  rest  of 
you." 

"Shades  of  Julius  Caesar!"  and  Gilman  regarded 
the  two  culprits,  frowningly.  "You  —  and  you!  And 
with  a  one-eyed  nag,  the  only  animal  safe  enough  for 
Romeo  to  ride !  Don't  I  insist  there  is  no  longer  any 
real  romance  in  life?  This  situation- — an  elopement, 
should  be  romantic.  Is  it?  Not  by  any  manner  of 
means.  It's  a  wonder  you  did  not  thrust  this  at  me  in 
a  frame." 

"Hadn't  time,"  said  the  Iridegroom. 

"Or  you  would?"  and  Gilman  threw  up  his  hands 
at  this  final  evidence  of  the  non-romantic  spirit 

"Now,  now,  dear,  good  Mr.  Gilman!"  and  Lulu 
was  using  all  her  blandishments  of  tone  and  caressing 
hand  and  pleading  eye,  "you  can  help  the  romance  of 
it  beautifully  by  breaking  the  news  to  mama  —  easy  — 
on  the  way  home.  She  can't  have  hysterics  on  horse 
back!" 

"A  nice  part  of  the  work  you  have  laid  out  for  me, 
you  young  schemers.  But  since  the  mischief  occurred 
at  my  place,  I  '11  feel  responsible  until  I  see  you  settled 
in  life.  And  your  poor  mama — "  Then  he  checked 
himself  to  stare  hard  at  the  girl.  "  Jove !  that  reminds 
—  you  led  her  to  think — " 

"  Now,  dearest  Mr.  Gilman !  You  '11  console  mama, 
won't  you?" 


400  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"Will  I?  Guess  I'll  have  to  ask  your  poor  mama 
to  console  me." 

"Now?"  demanded  Lulu,  round-eyed,  as  he 
started  towards  the  alcove.  He  halted  and  looked 
over  his  glasses  at  her  in  mock  ferocity. 

"  No,  I  '11  break  it  to  her  easy,  on  the  way  home, 
where  she  can't  have  hysterics." 

Lulu  whirled  gleefully  around  the  room  in  a  mad 
gallop  to  the  air  of  the  varsouvienne,  with  Joe  as  a 
lagging  partner,  while  she  whispered: 

"Hysterics!  His  bank  account  will  cure  them, 
Joe." 

Then  she  checked  her  unsatisfactory  attempts  at  the 
dance,  and,  trying  in  vain  to  get  the  step,  rushed  into 
Monica. 

"Do  show  me,"  she  begged;  "you  know  all  those 
old-fashioned  dances.  I  never  can  get  it  started  right 
alone  —  this  part." 

Monica  turned,  feverishly  eager  for  any  distraction 
from  the  suspense  of  waiting — waiting  for  them  to  go ! 

"It  is  so  very  easy — slower,  Nanny — like  this." 

From  the  other  room  Sargent  could  see  her  in  the 
witchery  of  the  old  dance.  The  others  were  applaud 
ing  as  Lulu  stepped  back  and  the  graceful  figure  in  red 
and  white  danced  the  stately  measures  alone. 

And  he  —  he  could  only  watch  in  silence  while  the 
nails  of  his  clenched  hands  cut  into  his  own  palms,  and 
he  knew  himself  in  the  toils  of  the  fates  their  love 
had  laughed  at  1  He  dared  not  approach  her,  he  dared 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  401 

scarcely  look  at  her.  He  sat  alone  with  the  portfolio 
of  drawings  and  moved  them  about  mechanically  and 
saw  the  mocking  nooks  of  a  land  where  their  happiness 
had  been  hidden  —  and  knew  that  behind  the  closed 
door — 

Then  the  closed  door  opened,  and  Maum  Rosa 
came  out,  looking  gray  and  old,  and  her  hands 
trembling  as  she  saw  the  dance  and  touched  Sargent's 
arm. 

"  For  God's  sake !  "  she  breathed,  chokingly,  "  Mr. 
Lane,  get  them  folks  out  of  this  house !  " 

"You  mean  —  already?" 

She  nodded,  speechlessly,  and  he  noticed  the 
untouched  glasses  of  lemonade  brought  in  on  his 
arrival. 

"Give  her  this,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 
"Stop  that  dance!" 

The  dance  was  already  at  its  close,  and  Monica, 
refusing  the  enthusiastic  encore,  accepted  the  glass 
offered  her.  Lulu  took  the  other  from  the  tray,  and 
there  was  much  gay  chatter  over  dances,  old  and  new. 

Sargent,  white  and  desperate,  joined  them, 
glancing  out  of  the  window  for  the  promised  convey 
ance,  and,  seeing  no  signs  of  it,  turned  to  Monica. 

"  May  we  have  permission  to  invade  your  garden, 
Mrs.  Wayne?"  he  asked,  as  a  last  hope  of  getting 
them  all  out  of  the  room;  "the  view  from  here  is 
charming  and  unusual." 

"  Certainly,  take  possession  of  it  —  all  of  you.    You 


4-O2  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

may  find  it  quaint,  but  there  are  only  very  old- 
fashioned  roses  and  lilies  —  insignificant  things." 

Her  glance  met  his  as  the  others  trooped  out,  led 
by  Nell  and  Gilman.  Sargent  lingered  until  all  had 
gone  through  the  glass  door  and  their  calls  of  joy 
came  back  concerning  the  arbors,  and  the  sun  dial,  and 
the  wonders  of  late  bloom. 

"  Go ! "  she  murmured,  as  she  leaned  against  the 
door  frame,  utterly  exhausted.  uGo,  take  them  far, 
and  —  keep  them  there." 

"  Monica ! "  he  whispered,  all  the  plea  of  his  heart 
in  his  voice  and  eyes,  u  I  can't,  I  can't  leave  you  now !  " 

"Miss  Mona,  Miss  Mona  —  quick!"  moaned  old 
Rosa,  at  the  closed  door,  and  Monica  straightened, 
terrified  at  the  face  of  the  nurse. 

"Maum  Rosa?" 

"Monica!"  called  Lulu  from  the  garden,  "may 
we  have  some  of  these  wonderful  lilies?" 

"Help  yourselves!"  she  answered,  as  she  went 
swiftly  to  Rosa,  who  grasped  her  hand,  pitifully. 

"Andreses,  too?  "called  Nell. 

"And  roses,  too;  all  you  like  —  all  of  them!  Oh, 
Lane,  go,  go,  and  —  keep  them  there!" 

Reluctantly  he  stepped  out,  closing  the  glass  door 
behind  him.  The  others  were  already  too  far  in  the 
garden  to  hear  a  smothered  scream  in  that  closed  room. 

But  he  heard  it,  yet  dared  not  turn  back. 

And  behind  the  closed  door  Monica  knelt  by  the 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  403 

bed,  and  threw  off  wildly  the  restraining  hand  of  the 
old  nurse. 

"It  is  not  true!"  she  insisted.  "He  is  not  dying, 
he  can't  be  I  Sleepy  boy !  Baby !  " 

"Miss  Mona!  for  God's  sake !" 

"It  is  not  true,  I  tell  you!  Baby  —  come!  look  at 
me_  Baby !" 

She  gathered  the  little  white  form  hungrily  into 
her  arms,  and  stood  erect,  defiantly. 

"  It  is  not  true  I "  she  insisted,  and,  opening  the 
door,  walked  out,  with  old  Maum  Rosa  clinging  to 
her,  helplessly. 

Sargent  savr  Rosa  slip  the  white  curtain  quickly 
across  the  window  as  a  shield,  and  knew  what  had 
happened.  In  three  strides  he  was  back,  inside  the 
room. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lane,  make  her  go  back!  make  her  go 
back!"  moaned  the  old  woman,  as  she  shot  fast  the 
bolt  of  the  garden  door  and  then  the  door  into  the 
hall  and  stood,  a  black  sentinel  of  faithfulness, 
watching  the  garden. 

He  stood  still  inside  the  door  and  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  the  woman  he  adored — the  bereft  mother  — 
and  was  silent  before  the  agony  there.  After  what 
seemed  a  long  time  he  whispered,  "  Monica !  " 

She  stared  at  him  as  if  she  had  been  waiting  a  life 
time  for  his  voice,  and  then  fell  on  her  knees  by  the 
window  seat,  the  child  in  her  arms  resting  on  the 
cushion,  and  looked  up  at  him,  appealingly. 


404  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"She  said  —  oh,  Lane  —  it  is  not  true!  she  said  he 

—  was  dying!  our  baby,  my  baby  —  was  dying!     Oh 

—  little  sleepy  man  —  wake  up!    Baby  —  Baby!" 
Sargent  knelt  beside  her,  and  drew  her  close  while 

he  lifted  the  tiny  white  hand  of  the  child  to  his  lips. 

"  Monica,"  he  said,  brokenly,  with  his  lips  against 
her  cheek.  "Monica,  he  is  no  longer  —  dying!" 

She  arose  to  her  feet,  staring  at  the  little  body  on 
the  window  seat,  and  stepped  backwards  as  if  uncon 
scious  of  her  movement. 

He  clasped  her  to  him,  but  it  was  only  a  dazed  look 
she  gave  as  he  whispered,  "  Monica !  " 

Outside  Lulu  and  Joe,  far  down  under  the  cypress 
trees,  were  singing  lustily: 

In  Dixie  Land  I  take  my  stand ! 
I  live  and  die  in  Dixie  Land, 
Look  away !   Look  away ! 
Look  away  down  south  in  Dixie ! 

And  nearer,  under  the  oleanders,  was  heard  the 
sweet,  highly-tuned  note  of  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 

"  Is  Mr.  Sargent  playing  truant  from  our  holiday?  " 

He  clasped  her  more  closely,  while  his  tears  wet  her 
cheeks,  but  her  eyes  were  dry. 

And  nearer  came  a  voice  they  were  each  fond  of  in  a 
way  —  the  voice  of  Nell. 

"  Where  is  he,  anyway?  Lane !  Lane !  come  and  cut 
roses  for  us! " 

"Roses!"  whispered  Monica,  in  his  arms  as  she 


"He  is  no  longer — dying" 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  40$ 

gently  drew  herself  apart;  " roses!  —  your  world  is 
waiting  for  you  —  there!" 

"  My  world,"  and  he  strove  to  hold  her  again  in  his 
arms,  "my  world  is  here  with  you  —  and  him!" 

She  put  him  aside  with  one  eloquent  gesture. 

"Do  not  speak,"  she  said,  as  she  lifted  the  child 
from  the  window  seat.  "Words!  words!  words! 
words!  we  said  them  all,  not  an  hour  ago  —  there!" 

"Lane  Sargent!"  called  Nell,  imperatively,  from 
the  garden. 

"You  hear!"  said  Monica,  evenly,  lowly.  "They 
are  calling  you.  Your  world  —  a  man's  world  —  is 
calling  you ! " 

"Monica!  Now,  when  you  need  me  most!  need 
care,  need  protection — " 

"The  only  protection  you  can  give  me  is  to  leave 
me,"  she  said,  clasping  the  little  dead  body  to  her 
breast.  "We  have  dared  all  their  conventions,  we 
have  lived  out  all  of  our  theory  of  life,  and  it  brings 
us  —  here!  Kiss  me!  For  the  last  time  —  good-by!" 

"  Monica !  Monica  !  "  he  cried,  with  all  his  heart  in 
his  voice  as  his  kisses  fell  on  her  face  and  the  tiny 
face  of  their  dead  child  —  "Monica!" 

"That  is  over — now,"  she  said,  in  the  same  even, 
tearless  way.  "It  is  all  over,  and  they  are  calling 
you  —  out  there  —  out  in  our  garden  of  love!  They 
are  calling  you  there — you! " 

Her  eyes  in  fond,  bewildered  questioning  were  still 
on  the  face  of  the  child  as  she  stepped  backwards,  and 


406  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Sargent  stared  at  her  incredulous,  half-awed,  half- 
stunned,  as  she  turned  from  him,  and  the  door  closed 
behind  her. 

"Monica  —  Querida ! "  he  called,  softly,  as  he 
sought  to  follow  her. 

Then  he  heard  a  bolt  slipping  into  place,  and  h:  fell 
on  his  knees  by  the  door. 

"Monica,  open  the  door  for  me  —  Monica !  " 

He  could  hear  the  sound  of  a  woman  sobbing  within, 
but  no  answer.  Rosa,  at  the  alcove,  came  over  to  him 
and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  pityingly. 

"  It  ain't  no  use,  Mr.  Lane,"  she  said,  trembling 
with  the  effort  at  self-control.  "What  she  is  goin' 
through  can't  be  argued  with.  It's  deeper  than  a  man 
can  gauge !  The  onliest  help  you  can  give  is  the  lookin' 
after  these  quality  folks  in  the  garden  —  they're  a- 
comin'  back! " 

She  unfastened  the  two  doors  as  Nell  and  Mrs. 
Smythe-Orville  were  visible  coming  back  through  the 
shrubbery,  their  hands  full  of  roses. 

When  they  entered  Rosa  had  disappeared  in  the 
alcove,  and  Sargent  stood  at  the  window  facing  the 
garden. 

"  Well !  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Allen.  "  The  idea  of  enjoying  garden  sweets  at 
long  range ! " 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  them,  and  smiled, 
but  did  not  turn. 

"Supposing    that    I    wanted    perspective    for    my 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  407 

picture,  and  feared  to  have  the  ideal  vanish  if  I  went 
a  step  too  near?" 

Mrs.  Allen  made  a  mocking  bow. 

"As  we  were  part  of  the  picture,"  she  observed, 
"you  are  forgiven.  I  always  did  love  a  clever  liar! 
But  I  thought  I  heard  wheels  on  the  road." 

Joe  came  tumultuously  through  the  garden  door, 
loaded  with  blossoms,  a  rose  in  his  cap. 

"Your  chariot  is  waiting,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  this  lucky 
genius  is  to  be  your  cavalier,"  he  announced. 

"He  is  lucky,"  observed  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville. 

:(Yes,  very,"  commented  Sargent. 

"  That  is  pretty,"  decided  Mrs.  Allen.  "  If  you  are 
sorry  for  yourself — " 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  his  hat  and 
ulster  from  the  window  seat,  "I  congratulate  myself! 
May  a  man  not  sigh  at  the  briefness  of  a  happiness  — 
to  be  your  cavalier  only  for  an  hour?" 

Nell  Allen  looked  at  him  with  a  quizzical  smile,  and 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  told  you  I  loved  a  clever  liar,  Lane,"  she 
returned,  "but  you  are  always  puzzling  to  me  when 
you  please  me  too  well." 

"Nevertheless,"  he  said,  smiling  lightly,  "I  am  at 
your  service,  Madam." 

Lulu,  Tony,  and  the  others  came  trooping  in, 
responding  to  the  whistle  of  Joe  on  the  veranda.  All 
were  laden  with  greenery  and  flowers,  and  Tony 
sported  an  immense  daisy  in  his  buttonhole. 


408  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"You  are  a  sight  with  that  sunflower,"  observed 
Nell.  "Where  is  Monica?" 

"  She  may  be  in  the  front  of  the  house,"  suggested 
Sargent.  "The  horses  are  waiting;  had  we  not  better 
start?" 

"  Go  and  see,  Tony,"  said  Tony's  better  half.  "And 
where  is  Gillie?" 

"  Oh,  he  is  crazy  over  the  garden,  and  is  making  a 
thousand  notes,"  said  Lulu,  turning  to  Sargent. 
"Really,  you  know,  it  is  the  prettiest  ever!  Just  a 
dream  place." 

"I'll  go  look  for  him,"  he  said,  with  a  desperate 
hope  of  getting  them  all  off  the  grounds  quickly.  But 
he  looked  to  see  that  Maum  Rosa  was  on  guard  before 
he  went  out  through  the  garden  door. 

Lulu  drew  Nanny  Allen  into  the  alcove  and  was 
whispering  her  dearest  secret  into  her  ear,  whereupon 
they  both  began  playing  the  wedding  march  softly,  and 
with  much  whispered  accompaniment. 

Maum  Rosa,  who  had  been  watching  the  restless 
horses  in  front  of  the  house,  noted  the  equally  restless 
attitude  of  Mrs.  Allen,  to  whom  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville 
was  whispering. 

"I  —  I  reckon,  Miss  Elinor,"  she  ventured  at  last, 
"  I  reckon  Miss  Mona  had  a  headache  from  that 
dance,  and  has  laid  down  for  a  spell  and  fell  asleep. 
She  ain't  been  so  special  vigorous  this  last  year." 

Mrs.  Allen  and  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  exchanged 
glances  as  Rosa  went  back  to  her  former  station  at  the 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  409 

alcove  window.  From  there  she  could  keep  the  door 
of  Monica's  in  full  view,  besides  remaining  in  sight 
and  hearing  of  the  visiting  group. 

"Well,  where  is  she?"  asked  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville, 
when  Rosa  was  safely  out  of  hearing. 

"Vanished  on  account  of  Lane  Sargent,  /  think," 
answered  Nell.  "Do  you  notice  his  anxiety  to  get 
away?" 

"But,  why—  ?" 

"  Oh,  he 's  been  silly  enough  to  let  her  vnow  he  cares 
for  her!"  said  Nell,  disgustedly.  "I  k  ew  he  would 
some  day,  though  he  hadn't  a  ghost  of  a  chance  — 
might  just  as  well  make  love  to  Miss  Liberty  in  the 
upper  bay.  I  suppose  she  has  frozen  him  forever,  and 
shut  herself  out  of  sight." 

"Well,  shall  we  go?" 

"  Certainly  not.  If  all  the  men  who  make  harmless 
love  to  one  had  to  be  exiled,  what  would  become  of 
society?" 

Tony,  at  the  hall  door,  shouted  that  the  horses  were 
getting  restless,  but  his  wife  settled  herself  back  among 
the  cushions. 

"You  can  save  your  breath,  Tony  boy,"  she 
observed.  "  I  shan't  stir  until  I  have  seen  Monica ! " 

Then  the  bolt  of  the  closed  door  was  heard  slide 
back,  and  Monica  entered,  closing  the  door  behind  her, 
and  standing  with  her  back  to  it  for  a  moment  as  if 
resting  against  it,  her  hands  behind  her. 

She  had  put  aside  the  vivid  belt  and  bolero  and  was 


410  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

all  in  white,  and  her  still  face  was  that  of  a  statue  in 
which  only  the  eyes  seemed  alive,  the  eyes  of  gray- 
shadowed  flame! 

"Oh,  Monica,  were  you  resting?"  asked  Nell, 
eagerly.  "Is  your  head  better?'* 

"  I " — she  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes  for  a  moment 
and  then  let  it  fall,  listlessly — "I  —  scarcely  know." 

"  You  do  look  as  if  we  had  been  too  much  for  you,n 
stated  Nell,  wheeling  forward  a  chair  and  almost 
forcing  her  into  it.  "  You  are  cold  as  ice !  You  simply 
must  come  over  to  Oaklands  with  us,  and  let  me  take 
care  of  you." 

Monica  smiled  and  shook  her  head  —  the  idea  of 
being  cured  at  Oaklands!  Sargent  came  in  from  the 
garden,  and  stood  at  the  door,  silent,  to  hear  her 
answer. 

"To  go  to  Oaklands  will  not  be  possible.  I  leave 
—  for  Manhattan  —  tomorrow." 

"So  sorry  you  are  not  to  be  with  us,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Smythe-Orville.  "Good-by,  had  a  lovely  time; 
come,  Lulu ! " 

"But  Monica,"  persisted  Nell,  "I've  a  thousand 
things  to  talk  about.  Glyn  is  going  downhill  on  a 
toboggan,  and — " 

"Don't  talk  about  that;  it  does  not  interest  me. 
I  am  not  strong  enough  to  help  him." 

"Help  him?  No  one  expects  you  to!  I  only  mean 
that  you  need  not  hide  in  out-of-the-way  corners  as 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  411 

you  have  done  for  the  last  year.  He  won't  come 
back." 

"  Don't  talk  about  him,"  said  Monica  again.  "He 
gave  me  his  name,  you  know! " 

Sargent,  at  the  door,  heard  and  turned  white. 

"  Well,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  It,  I  'm  mum,  of 
course,"  declared  Nell,  "but  everyone  else  is  talking 
of  it,  if  you  are  not;  also  your  little  protege,  Hettie,  is 
getting  along  famously  with  that  beautiful  Sister 
Teresa.  A  lot  of  us  send  our  orders  for  embroidery 
and  drawn  work  there  just  for  the  sake  of  looking  at 
her;  she  is  so  very  unusual." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Monica,  "she  is.  She  is  wonderful, 
I  think — wonderful  through  her  faith --and  work." 

"Shall  we  find  you  in  the  same  cozy  studio  when  we 
get  back  to  little  old  New  York?"  asked  Tony,  and 
again  Sargent  listened  —  he  who  dare  ask  her  none  of 
the  intimate  questions  allowed  to  the  others ! 

"  I  think  not,"  she  said,  with  a  certain  shrinking  at 
the  thought.  "I  —  I  have  made  no  plans." 

From  the  flowers  brought  from  the  garden  and  piled 
on  the  center  table,  Nell  selected  a  red  rose  to  match 
the  one  in  her  bodice,  and  called  Sargent  to  come  and 
be  decked  for  the  sacrifice. 

"  If  you  are  to  be  my  cavalier,  you  must  wear  my 
colors,"  she  decided.  "  I  am  sure  you  never  wore  so 
fragrant  a  garden  rose." 

"Never,"  he  agreed,  appreciatively,  and  looked 
over  Nell's  head  to  Monica  with  a  mute  appeal  in  L.s 


412  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

eyes.     Their  roses  —  the  roses  of  their  love  garden! 

Gilman  came  in  bubbling  with  enthusiasm,  a  note 
book  in  each  hand. 

"  That  garden  is  a  wonder,"  he  declared,  "  a  won 
der !  As  many  different  kinds  of  singing  birds  as  there 
are  blossoms.  I  Ve  made  notes  of  them  all ! " 

"  Gillie,  weVe  been  waiting  a  month  for  you," 
called  Tony  from  the  door. 

"  Can't  help  it,  just  plain  witchery  down  there  among 
the  cypresses!  Good-by,  Madam  Monica,  enchanting 
princess  of  the  enchanting  garden !  If  I  had  not  sworn 
off  modern  romance,  convinced  myself  that  there  was 
no  more  of  real  romance  in  the  modern  life  than  there 
is  real  tragedy  in  it,  that  garden  would  have  been  a 
temptation.  It's  poetic,  that  garden  is  —  live  oaks  and 
lilies,  roses  and  cypress  trees,  and  birds  —  you  remem 
ber  that  bird  in  Dacy's  garden  —  the  one  with  the 
broken  wing?" 

He  flipped  over  the  pages  of  the  little  book  marked 
"  Nature  Notes  "  in  vain,  and  at  the  reminder  of  that 
evening — the  first  evening  —  Monica  looked  across  at 
Sargent. 

"You  mean  the  bird  deceived  by  the  transparency 
of  the  glass  until  it  dreamed  it  could  fly  harmless 
through  the  unseen  barriers  ?  Yes,  I  remember !  Poor 
bird  with  the  broken  wing! " 

"That's  the  one,"  agreed  Gilman.  "You  said  the 
experience  might  give  it  a  new  note  for  its  song." 

"  But,"  and  this  time  she  dared  not  meet  Sargent's 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  413 

pained,  compelling  eyes,  "  Mr.  Sargent  reminded  us 
that  the  wider  range  of  feeling  would  scarcely  make 
amends  for  its  crippled  life.*' 

"  So  he  did,"  agreed  Gilman.  "  I  made  a  note  of  it 
at  the  time.  There  was  a  poem  in  that  incident." 

"I  can't  see  it,"  decided  the  practical  Nell,  who 
was  arranging  an  immense  sheaf  of  blossoms  pleasing 
to  her.  "Your  poetic  bird  was  a  little  fool;  it  had 
eyes  to  see." 

"And,"  added  Monica,  falteringly,  "since  it  had 
eyes  to  see,  its  transgressions  be  —  upon  its  own  head !  " 

No  one  but  Sargent  noticed  how  heavily  she  leaned 
on  the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  she  had  arisen, 
or  that  her  eyes  were  turned  on  the  table  of  flowers 
beside  her  and  avoided  the  groups  of  departing  guests. 
From  the  mass  of  bloom  she  lifted  one  white  rose  — 
their  world-old  symbol  of  secrecy!  as  Tony  appeared 
with  a  last  despairing  appeal  to  Gilman  that  he  help 
herd  his  guests  to  horse. 

"Oh,  eh,  yes!  my  fault  entirely,"  he  agreed,  as  he 
crowded  forward  with  the  others  for  a  good-by  to 
Monica.  "Enchanted  Princess  of  the  enchanted 
garden  —  until  we  meet  again!" 

"Oh,  shoo!  get  along,  all  of  you,"  insisted  Tony, 
whose  restless  horse  was  a  new  and  well-beloved  pet. 
"  Forward,  march ! " 

"We  can't  march  without  music,"  protested  Lulu, 
and  then  in  a  low,  suggestive  undertone  she  called, 
"Nanny!" 


414  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

Nanny  Allen,  all  a-joy  over  the  new  love  scheme 
concluded  in  their  midst,  slipped  back  into  the  alcove, 
and  crashed  out  the  triumphant  notes  of  a  wedding 
march  with  which  to  start  the  young  couple  on  their 
homeward  journey. 

Gilman,  with  a  sunflower  as  a  baton,  offered  his 
hand  in  mock  ceremony  to  Mrs.  Smythe-Orville  and 
led  the  procession  out.  Joe  whistled,  and  Lulu  sang, 
until  the  others  outside  took  up  the  air,  and  it  floated 
back  to  Monica  where  she  stood,  still,  and  a  little 
pale,  with  only  Nell  and  Nell's  escort  left,  and  Nell 
was  repeating,  coaxingly: 

"  Do  come  tomorrow ! " 

"I  —  cannot,"  she  answered,  lowly,  schooling  her 
voice  not  to  scream  at  the  mad  mockery  of  that  wed 
ding  march  being  sung  now — now — now  1  "  It  is  not 
possible,  Nell;  good-by  for  a  month!" 

Nell  kissed  her  and  tapped  her  with  a  red  rose  in 
pettish  reproof,  and  even  as  she  said  good-by  was 
conscious  that  Sargent  had  not  once  spoken  —  and  was 
waiting. 

As  she  reached  the  door  she  saw  him  go  closer  to 
Monica,  holding  out  his  hand  —  which  was  not  taken. 

" Good-by,  for  —  how  long?"  he  said,  lowly. 

"  Forever." 

"  Monica !  "  he  protested. 

But  she  imposed  silence  by  the  white  rose  lifted  to 
her  lips,  and  he  stepped  back,  conscious  of  the  eyes  of 
Nell,  and  the  uselessness  of  words. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  415 

"Adios"  she  said,  softly,  and  then,  as  he  turned  to 
join  Nell,  she  added  the  refrain  of  the  old  Spanish 
love  song,  "For  siempre  —  adios!" 

He  looked  at  her,  cold,  and  still,  and  white,  with  all» 
the  fragrance  of  the  blossoms  about  her. 

Outside  was  the  mockery  of  the  wedding  march 
whistled  and  sung  for  their  parting. 

It  reached  her  where  she  stood  —  alone! 

He  followed  Nell  with  a  mist  of  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  she,  for  a  wonder,  ceased  to  be  amused  at  what 
she  had  thought  a  little  comedy.  Lane  was  certainly 
harder  hit  than  she  had  fancied  —  and,  of  course,  it 
was  of  no  use  at  all !  Monica  never  would  care  for  any 
thing  but  her  work.  Nell  was  quite  convinced  that 
they  might  have  had  Monica  along  with  the  party  if 
Lane  Sargent  had  not  arrived  at  that  particular 
moment.  Monica  never  had  carea  much  for  Lane  — 
curious ! 

So  she  was  rather  silent,  for  her,  on  the  way  home 
and  held  her  great  sheaf  of  bloom  carefully  lest  it  be 
injured,  and  pointed  out  to  him  occasionally  special 
beauties  among  the  many,  until  he  was  frantic  with' 
longing  for  every  nook  where  they  grew  —  the  nooks 
of  their  love  garden  —  never  to  be  forgotten. 

At  midnight  a  lone  horseman  rode  under  the  stars 
to  that  garden  and  found  only  a  little  grave  by  the 
white  rose  arbor — and  a  fond,  faithful  old  black 
woman,  who  wept  at  his  questions  and  shook  her  head. 


41 6  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

"  She  laid  him  there  among  the  white  flowers  with 
her  own  hands,  Mr.  Lane,  an*  never  shed  a  tear! 
Then  she  gets  ready,  as  quiet  as  a  ghost  woman,  an' 
goes  away  with  Jim  in  the  canoe  jest  as  the  river's 
a-gettin'  dark  under  the  trees.  No,  sir,  she  ain't 
leavin'  a  word  for  anybody  —  not  even  you,  Mr. 
Lane." 

"  Of  course,  Maum  Rosa,  she  knows  I  '11  follow 
her." 

"I  reckon  she  knows  you'll  —  try  to.  But  a  canoe 
along  the  black  water  in  the  night-time  ain't  easy 
trailin',  Mr.  Lane.  She  has  nigh  six  hours  start,  an' 
Jim  could  throw  a  blood  houn'  off  the  trail  in  less'n 
that  time.  No,  sir;  she  ain't  allowin'  to  be  found. 
She  said  down  there  at  the  edge  of  the  river  that  her 
ships  were  burned,  an'  she  was  leavin'  her  heart  back 
here  in  the  rose  garden.  Then  —  then  she  went  out 
on  that  gray  water  jest  like  a  white  ghost  of  a  girl 
into  the  twilight." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Tony  Aliens  did  not  meet  Sargent  again  for 
six  months,  and  then  it  was  in  Santa  Barbara  that 
they  turned  a  corner  in  an  old  plaza  and  literally  fell 
on  his  neck  with  joy. 

"  Do  come  along  with  us  down  the  coast,"  Nell 
begged.  "You  owe  us  something,  for  we  started  out 
on  the  strength  of  your  Mexican  story,  expecting  all 
the  old-time  Spanish  life  in  every  mission  town." 

"Yes,  and  all  we  have  struck  is  a  fine  collection  of 
*  native  sons'  wlJi  a  Yankee  or  middle  west  back 
ground,"  declared  Tony,  "and  all  the  priests  are 
Irish!" 

"You  have  to  cut  out  the  regular  tourist  route  if 
you  want  the  old  Mexican  life,"  advised  Sargent. 

"We  have  a  dandy  new  car,  and  a  few  dozens  of 
letters  to  leading  citizens.  Going  down  to  the  Mexi 
can  line  before  we  turn.  We'll  be  good  and  let  you 
work,  dig,  and  slave,  if  you  will  only  come  along  and 
be  pilot." 

And  to  their  surprise,  he  consented. 

Under  his  direction  they  evaded  the  scheduled  route 
of  the  average  Anglo-Saxon,  and  took  to  the  byways, 
where  the  old  picturesque  life  of  the  Mexican  does  still 
exist  in  little,  seldom  seen,  hamlets. 

417 


4i 8  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

And  under  pepper  trees  and  palms  and  past  fragrant 
orchards  they  sped  south  and  ever  south,  while  Nell 
upbraided  him  as  an  absconder  from  their  midst,  and 
told  him  all  the  gossip  of  their  set,  and  praised  his  new 
book,  while  she  scolded  him  for  refusing  such  an 
excellent  dramatic  offer  for  Twilight. 

"Just  throwing  oodles  of  money  away,  Lane,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  can't  see  how  you  have  the  heart  to  do  it." 

"Oh,  it's  rather  a  nuisance  to  be  tied  in  New  York 
for  theatrical  reasons  just  when  all  this  is  calling  one  " 
—  and  he  waved  his  hand  to  the  wide  ranges  where  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow  were  literally  reproduced  in 
the  glow  of  flowering  things. 

"You  are  as  impractical  as  Monica  Wayne,"  decided 
Nell,  "  and  beyond  that  there  are  no  words.  None  of 
us  have  seen  her  since  that  day  in  Georgia.  Glyn  is 
partly  paralyzed,  and  lawyers  on  both  sides  are  trying 
in  vain  to  locate  her.  He  is  over  there  with  a  lot  of 
harpies,  and  all  she  would  need  to  do  is  walk  in,  shoo 
them  away,  and  take  possession.  But  she  answers  no 
letters,  and  never  comes  back.  Isn't  that  the  limit?" 

"  It  would  seem  so." 

"Glyn  thinks  she  has  joined  some  sisterhood  for 
good  and  all;  but  I  don't  know.  I  can't  quite  see 
Monica  like  that.  Anyway,  she  is  doing  her  work, 
wherever  she  is,  for  there  is  a  new  window  of  hers 
announced  as  ready  at  an  early  date,  so  those  church 
managers  must  know  where  she  is." 

"Why  are  you  always  fussing  about  her  when  she 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  419 

doesn't  care  a  picayune  about  any  of  us?"  demanded 
Tony.  "  I  admire  her  tremendously,  but  if  she  elects 
to  cut  the  entire  family,  what  is  the  use  of  fretting? 
She  knows  what  she  wants  —  or  doesn't  want." 

"  I  know,  Tony,"  agreed  his  wife,  "  you  are  perfectly 
right,  but  we  were  such  chums.  I  was  so  fond  of  her, 
and  one  can't  be  very  fond  of  Monica  and  ever  forget 
her.  One  can  criticise,  and  wonder,  and  disapprove, 
and  decide  that,  though  she  is  a  genius,  she  lacks  com 
mon  sense  —  I  can  do  all  these  things  by  the  day,  or 
the  week,  but  —  I  can't  forget  her!  " 

"Well,  Nell,"  said  Tony,  consolingly,  "I  guess  she 
was  fond  enough  of  you,  too;  I  'm  sure  she  was.  But 
when  Wayne  came  over  here  and  stirred  up  trouble, 
and  all  his  relatives  argued  that  she  ought  to  go  back 
to  him  and  take  care  of  his  money,  she  simply  decided 
to  drop  out  entirely.  It  was  about  the  only  way  she 
could  get  a  chance  at  work." 

"Yes,  and  work  was  all  she  ever  really  did  care  a 
minute  for,"  agreed  Nell. 

So  Sargent  sat  beside  them  and  heard  all  Nell's  fond 
imaginings  over  the  loss  of  her  —  Nell,  who  could  do 
all  things,  except — forget  her! 

And  then  they  whirled  down  through  a  mission 
valley  to  the  sea,  and  Nell  exclaimed  over  the  beauty 
of  the  ruin  of  the  century  old  church  set  like  a  jewel 
in  the  green  velvet  of  the  ranges. 

"  Really,  and  truly,  Lane,  is  n't  this  the  valley  of 
your  book?"  she  demanded,  as  she  gazed  in  admiration 


• — 

at  the  carving  of  the  stone  and  the  stateliness  of  the 
great  chancel.  "  I  am  sure  of  it  from  the  illustrations 
—yet  if  it  isn't  don't  tell  me.  I  would  rather  keep 

my  belief."  .  . 

He  only  smiled,  and  let  her  keep  her  little  doubtful 
mystery  of  it,  while  Tony  fished  in  his  pocket  for  his 
lists  of  towns  and  letters. 

"This  is  Galvez's  town,"  he  decided.  "I  have  a 
letter  to  him  from  a  railroad  mogul  and  a  pnest,  so 
you  two  can  moon  around  this  pile  of  rocks  whil. 

locate  him."  . 

Senor  Carlos  Galvez  was  at  San  Luis  Key,  but  his 
wife,  Dona  Maria,  read  the  letter  of  the  priest,  and 
made  offer  of  all  hospitality  if  the  Senores  and 
Senora  would  wait  over  a  few  days.  It  might  be  that 
Don  Carlos  would  return  that  week;  but  there  was  a 
cousin  marrying  a  girl  at  San  Luis  Key,  and  there 
would  be  a  barbecue,  and  next  week  the  wedding 
party  would  be  here  in  San  Juan;  and  if  the  Americanos 
would  be  pleased  to  stay  over— 

But  the  Americanos  were  content  to  sit  under  i 
palm  tree  in  the  patio  and  drink  glasses  of  rich  mission 
wine  and  hear  the  history  of  how  a  cask  of  it  had  been 
lost  for  thirty  years  in  the  old  secret  cellar  and  then 
found  again.  The  glass  of  wine  was  all  they  could 
accept,  as  they  were  going  south  after  supper,  and 
perhaps  they  might  make  San  Luis  Key  in  time  for  t 

barbecue.  , 

Then  Nell  and  Tony  slipped  away  to  arrange  I 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  421 

supper  at  the  little  Mexican  inn,  and  Sargent,  left 
behind,  listened  to  the  directions  for  locating  Don 
Carlos  among  the  many  cousins,  and  tried  to  see  some 
trace  of  the  hard  beauty  of  the  slender  Maria  in  this 
fat,  placid,  material  matron,  whose  life  had  been  a 
success  since  at  twenty-five  she  was  the  social  head  of 
the  mission  valley,  quite  as  her  husband  was  the  busi 
ness  head  —  that  is,  in  the  Mexican  circle  —  for,  of 
course,  American  ranch  people  did  not  count. 

It  was  a  pity,  she  thought,  that  the  American  Senores 
had  not  come  a  few  weeks  earlier,  even  two  weeks,  for 
the  rodeos  had  been  fine,  and  it  had  been  a  good  season 
for  the  horses. 

"Years  ago  I  was  in  your  valley,"  remarked  Sar 
gent,  "  but  it  was  the  day  of  the  accident  to  your  lather, 
and  I  met  none  of  your  family.  I  remember  that  day 
seeing  a  beautiful  horse  here,  a  palomino.  A  young 
girl  rode  it,  a  quite  young  girl  of  long  braids  and  a 
red  banda  —  pardon,  but  was  she  not  of  your 
household?" 

"  So  many  people  asking  of  that  girl,  that  Querida !  " 
and  the  tone  of  Dona  Maria  scarcely  veiled  her  con 
tempt.  "Are  you  people?"  and  she  glanced  again  at 
the  letter  of  the  priest,  "  are  you  people  perhaps  some 
more  lawyers?" 

"  Indeed,  no ;  not  a  lawyer  among  us." 

"  Well,  they  did  come,  lawyers ! "  said  Dona  Maria, 
with  slight  patience.  "Yes,  that  Querida  was  like 
you  said,  of  our  household,  and  it  has  made  a  disgrace 


422  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

to  us.  She  was  heretic  always,  and  she  marry  with  a 
rich  Americano  and  went  away  —  a  very  rich  Ameri 
cano  who  lives  in  Europe.  But  she  was  not  wise,  that 
Querida ;  always  she  was  smart,  but  not  wise,  and  she 
would  not  live  with  the  man  she  was  married  with, 
though  it  was  said  he  had  barrels  and  even  carts  full 
of  money.  The  lawyers  try  to  make  it  that  she  live 
with  him,  but  she  goes  away  and  they  never  can  find 
her.  The  lawyer  told  Don  Carlos  of  that  trouble.  It 
was  surely  great  disgrace,  but  always  she  was  like  that, 
so  clever  —  but  not  so  wise!" 

"And  she  never  comes  here?" 

"Once  she  come,  last  winter.  One  day  she  rides 
over  the  ranges  with  the  old  Indios,  and  then  she  was 
gone  again  —  and  no  one  sees  her  any  more." 

"And  the  beautiful  palomino?" 

"My  Carlos  has  always  hated  that  horse,"  said 
Dona  Maria,  placidly;  "it  was  so  bad  in  its  temper 
with  him.  So  he  lets  his  friend,  Manuel  Moro,  have  it 
to  run  in  a  race.  But  its  temper  was  also  bad  for 
Manuel,  and  it  would  not  run  for  him  at  all,  and  all 
the  money  was  lost — a  man  from  Yorba  winning  the 
money  with  an  Indian  horse  from  back  of  San  Jacinto, 
and  it  made  many  troubles.  So,  that  palomino  had  a 
bad  accident,"  and  Dona  Maria  smiled  and  looked  at 
him,  knowingly,  across  the  edge  of  her  little  black  fan. 
—  "Yes,  it  was  so,  and  it  was  found  under  the  cliff  by 
the  sea  the  very  next  morning  after  that  race !  Manuel 
said  the  palomino  was  a  demon,  and  was  like  Querida. 


The  Woman  of  the  Twilight  423 

It  would  run  itself  to  death  for  love,  but  balked  when 
there  was  good  money  up.  Some  horses  are  like  that, 
Stnor/' 

Sargent  thanked  Dona  Maria  for  the  rare  wine  and 
the  gracious  shade  of  her  palm  trees  and  walked 
out  along  the  columns  of  eucalyptus  towards  the 
mission. 

In  his  mind  was  one  clear-cut  picture  shutting  out  all 
the  glory  of  the  green  and  gold  of  the  springtime  — 
the  picture  of  the  beautiful  animal  with  the  living 
soul  of  bravery  in  its  body,  and  of  the  slender  young 
heretic  who  had  crossed  the  flood  of  the  quicksands  in 
safety  alone,  yet — " 

He  heard  the  laughter  of  Nell  and  Tony,  married 
lovers  and  happy,  in  the  mission  plaza,  and  halted 
under  the  shade  of  a  feathery  pepper  tree  by  the  fence. 

"Oh,  Tony  boy,"  Nell  was  saying,  half  seriously, 
"it's  a  shame  to  be  married  in  a  place  like  this  —  the 
most  ideal  love-making  nook  we  have  ever  struck  — 
and  to  find  it  two  whole  years  too  late !  " 

There  were  murmured  words  in  Tony's  voice,  and 
laughter  over  this  tragedy,  and  then  Nell's  voice, 
singing,  came  to  him: 

Brief  days  of  desire,  and  long  dreams  of  delight ! 
They  are  mine  when  my  poppy  land  cometh  in  sight ! 
Oh,  Life  of  my  life  — 

He  turned  away,  blindly.  At  every  turn  there  was 
some  thought  to  hurt. 


424  The  Woman  of  the  Twilight 

The  refrain  of  Nell's  song  followed  him: 

O  Life  of  my  life  —  on  the  cliff  by  the  sea! 

He  could  only  see  the  wild  moor  above  the  cliff  and 
the  beautiful  horse  with  its  wild  rider,  strong  and  free 
as  a  bird  skimming  the  ranges. 

But  the  horse  that  would  have  run  itself  to  death 
for  love,  lay  broken,  its  bones  bleaching  on  the  rock? 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

And  the  rider? 

He  passed  the  open  window  of  an  adobe  where  ar 
old  man  with  a  crutch  sat  in  a  little  patio,  and  ar 
Indian  woman  placed  a  loaf  and  a  decanter  of  win* 
on  the  table  beside  him. 

It  was  the  old  philosopher  of  many  ports  who  hac 
talked  with  him  that  once  in  the  dusk  of  the  missior 
arches,  and  told  him  to  come  back  to  San  Juan  in  ter 
years. 

He  had  come  back  in  less,  crossing  and  recrossin^ 
the  lands  where  her  feet  had  wandered  in  other  days 
but  the  journeys  had  been  empty,  and  the  end  of  th( 
trail  looked  far  away! 

THE   END 


DAY  USE 

TON  TO  DESK  FROM  WHJCH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT 


LD  2lA-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


a  p. 


